


Never Doubt I Love

by vasilysa



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Canon Rewrite, F/M, Norribeth, Post-Curse of the Black Pearl, Slow Burn, The Royal Navy, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-02-13 01:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 53,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21486085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vasilysa/pseuds/vasilysa
Summary: “Doubt thou the stars are fire,Doubt that the sun doth move,Doubt truth to be a liar,But never doubt I love." -- Hamlet, Act II, Scene IICutler Beckett interrupts the long awaited wedding of William Turner and Elizabeth Swann with a warrant for their arrest. Weatherby Swann works out a deal to spare his daughter’s life: Elizabeth is to sever ties with her pirate companions and become a proper society woman in every sense of the word. (oh, yes, it's another (somewhat) arranged marriage scenario).
Relationships: James Norrington/Elizabeth Swann
Comments: 147
Kudos: 253





	1. A Marriage of Convenience

James Lawrence Norrington had imagined his wedding day to be a little different.

  
For one, he had rather hoped that his bride-to-be would seem a little…well, happier.

  
But that wasn’t fair to ask of Elizabeth, and he knew it.

  
His heart broke all the same at seeing that singularly beautiful woman walk down the aisle towards him, leaning on her father’s arm as though a great burden were on her shoulders. She gave Weatherby Swann a light kiss on the cheek and turned to face James bravely.

  
She was stunning. Her honeyed hair was pulled back from her face except for a few tendrils that brushed her rosy cheeks. Her rosebud mouth was pursed just so, as if she was trying to think of something especially biting to say. The ivory dress she wore was simple, yet elegant; it framed her slim figure and the dip in the dress’s neckline allowed him to admire the tops of her small but comely breasts. He finally dared to look into her eyes, those dark eyes that threatened to swallow him up as surely as a gale at sea. They were not glistening, as he feared; no, she was putting on a brave face for her father, for him. But he wasn’t fooled. She gave him a cool smile, heartbreaking in her loveliness, but it did not reach her eyes, her pearly teeth did not flash like they did when she laughed at something.

  
“You…” He tried to think of something insightful to say to this woman whom he had known since she was a child. “You look lovely, Elizabeth.” He whispered it, low.

  
She opened her mouth to give a curt reply but then the priest began speaking.

  
The words hardly registered with James. He was too busy staring at his wife-to-be, thinking how he had never seen her look so defeated. He almost cried. She looked as if all of the fight had gone out of her—almost. He never wanted this. Well, not like this. But it was too late for cold feet now.

  
Marrying Elizabeth was the right thing to do, he knew. He could—somewhat—protect her from Cutler Beckett’s wrath with his station. To the eyes of Port Royal society, she would be a proper woman again, mostly restored from her pirate sabbatical. Yes, this was the safest course for Elizabeth, but the dull look in her eyes made him wonder for the hundredth time that day if it was truly worth it. But what other option was there? He could think of nothing.

  
“Do you, James Lawrence Norrington, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to cherish this woman, to protect her, to stand by her in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, until death do you part?” The Anglican priest intoned, fixing James with a serious gaze.

  
“I do,” James said, his voice ringing out clearly in the small church, taking him by surprise. Well, at least he managed to _sound_ calm.

  
“And do you, Elizabeth Frances Swann, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you…” James found that his vision blurred, but it came back in sharp relief when the priest asked Elizabeth to honor and obey him. If it weren’t for the seriousness of the situation, James would have laughed. In what godforsaken scenario would Elizabeth Swann listen to anyone but herself, let alone him? He shook his head, almost imperceptibly, trying to signal to her that he did not expect that part from her. Nor did he expect the love and cherish part, but…he hoped for that. Foolishly.

  
But she either misunderstood him or did not notice the small gesture, because she lifted her chin defiantly, and for a moment that fire was back in her eyes. “I do,” she said softly, but full of meaning. As if she was challenging him. Defying him to make her listen to him.

  
_Elizabeth, I would never ask anything of you that you would not willingly give…_

  
They exchanged rings and he leaned down and brushed her lips against his own, chastely. The clapping and cheering of the small audience roared in his ears like doldrums. Mechanically, he took her small, gloved hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow, and they exited the church with all of the liveliness of corpses.

  
The rest of the day passed in a blur.

  
At around five in the afternoon, they retired to his home. _Their_ home.

  
On the carriage ride to the house, he dared a glance at her, seated across from him. She was silent, unnervingly so. What was she thinking?

  
He wished he had the courage to ask.

  
When they arrived, he offered her his hand to step out of the carriage, but she ignored it—intentionally or otherwise—and hopped down, her wedding dress billowing around her lithe body like so many petals. He tried not to feel stung by the small slight.

  
As if she guessed his thoughts, she turned to him with a small smile and said, “It’s not you, James. I do that every chance I get. I can’t stand the feeling of being handled like porcelain.”  
With that oddly reassuring comment, she walked just ahead of him. When she reached the latched gate, she hesitated for just a moment before reaching over and lifting the latch. James watched her walk away from him and towards the door, an indescribable feeling in his gut, until he realized that she had paused and was waiting for him.

  
“Well?” She said, with the corners of her lips turning slightly up. “Won’t you show me around?”

  
All of a sudden, the words come rushing out. “Elizabeth,” he began desperately, “I know this isn’t what you wanted. I know that you still love—”

  
“James,” she interrupted in a tight voice. Now her eyes were definitely overly bright, although she attempted to turn away before he saw it. “Come on. It’s dreadfully warm out here.”  
She stood in the doorway, waiting. The house framed her slight body, her dark eyes and fair skin jumping out against the clean, whitewashed double doors of the entrance to the house.  
Because his heart was beating an aggressive march in his chest, and because he would do anything to take that pained expression off of her lovely face, he tried, “You’re not going to carry me across the threshold?”

  
Startled, she barked out a laugh. It warmed his heart and he couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his features. “How very traditional of you, Commodore,” she replied, and there was a glint of teeth in her smile before she turned away from him.

  
He would’ve liked to carry her, really, but he didn’t think she would much care for it.

  
So he slipped past her and opened the doors for her, enveloping them in the cool natural light of his home of some ten years. “Welcome home, Mrs. Norrington,” he said simply.

  
She stepped in after him, brushing past him, and he caught a whiff of jasmine and vanilla. She appraised his home critically, and he would have felt self-conscious, except she had a habit of surveying everything, like a prospector would survey a plot of land. She was very calculating, his Elizabeth.

  
His home wasn’t exceptional in any way; it was even a bit small for someone of his military rank. But it did have one charm that he knew she would love. After walking her through the various sitting rooms, kitchens, and dining rooms, he beckoned her to follow him. Curious, she did. They walked down a little hallway out of the kitchen into a small den flooded with sunlight, overlooking the water. Her eyes lit up. It was a small room, but wonderfully cozy. There were just two armchairs, a small side table, and a bookcase filled with books and trinkets. The gauzy curtains fluttered in the half-hearted breeze, but it was the smell of sea salt in the air that appealed to her most, he knew. Because it also appealed to him.

  
Actually, before she came along, this had been his private study. He would curl up in one of the chairs of an afternoon, rest his feet in the other seat, and alternate between dozing in the sunlight and rereading a favorite book. Sometimes the neighborhood tomcat would sit with him, too. It had been a very agreeable arrangement.

  
But now…

  
“It’s yours,” he said unexpectedly.

  
She blinked at him, confused.

  
“I won’t…I won’t bother you here,” he said hurriedly. “It can be your own space. I can bring in whatever books you’d like, and maybe a tray for some tea, and the windows I usually keep open because it does get quite warm, but you’re welcome to close them if you like, and…” He trailed off, feeling a flush creep up his neck. He’d been rambling.

  
But she didn’t seem annoyed. “Thank you,” she said simply. “It’s lovely, James.” She walked over to the bookshelves, running her fingers along the spine of an oversized atlas. She did not invite him to join her as she plucked it from its spot and sank into one of the two chairs. His chair, actually. “I think I will retire here until dinner.” It was a polite dismissal, but a dismissal all the same.

  
“Of course,” he said smoothly. He bowed slightly from the waist. “I’ll see you at seven, then.”

  
She nodded, but she was already turning away from both him and the book in her lap, turning towards the windows. He wondered if he had made a mistake, if she was going to throw herself out of those same windows. He shook his head to clear away the morbid thought.

\--

Dinner passed unremarkably. The housekeeper was quite taken with Elizabeth’s beauty, although she was unhappy about how thin she was. Elizabeth was gracious with her and the rest of the household staff, and James knew she would be more than capable of running the household in his absence. 

The sun had already gone down beyond the horizon. James felt exhausted, and he was sure Elizabeth felt similarly. He excused himself from the table and stood to light a candle and pour himself a nightcap. “Brandy?” He asked. He wouldn’t normally encourage a lady to partake in spirits, but Elizabeth was her own woman, after all.

  
Wordlessly, she took the bottle from him. Instead of pouring a small amount into the cup he set out for her, she took a swig directly from the bottle and handed it back to him, unceremoniously pressing it into his chest.

  
“Alright, then,” she said, ignoring the fact that his eyes were nearly bugging out of his head. “Let’s go.” She walked ahead of him, up the stairs, towards the main bedroom.

  
“Elizabeth?” He said dumbly, confused. He left the bottle on the banister as he went to follow her.

  
But she kept going. She disappeared into the darkness of the master bedroom, and he uncertainly followed, his heart pounding.

  
“What…” He swallowed.

  
She was laying on the bed—_his_ bed—and her hair was slightly mussed. Her arms were folded across her chest—when had she had time to change into a nightgown?—and she was staring up at the ceiling listlessly until he tiptoed in.

  
“What are you doing?” He asked cautiously.

  
“I thought you would want to consummate the marriage,” she said frankly. But despite the candor in her voice, there was a slight blush on her cheeks, and she looked…nervous. _Bloody hell._

  
He took a few agonizing steps over to the side of the bed, and knelt next to her, looking up into her serious brown eyes.

  
“I would not ask that of you,” he said, quietly, willing her to believe him.

  
She sat up and regarded him suspiciously. From her position on the bed, she was much taller than him. He could see the slight shadow between her breasts from this angle. The wooden floorboards hurt his knees, but he wanted to appear as non-threatening as possible.

  
“No?” She said slowly. “Why not?”

  
Why not? He was angry, but closed his eyes and took a breath, willing himself to be calm. “I will not go to bed with you unless you want it. I do not want that.” When she continued to frown at him, a bit of his temper slipped through: “Do you think so little of me?” He asked sharply.

  
She had the grace to color a little and look away. “No, James,” she sighed. “No, I do not. I…I’m sorry.”

  
He nodded stiffly and rose to his feet. “Well.” An uncomfortable silence hung between the two of them. “If you should need anything…”

  
“Where are you going?” She asked, her forehead wrinkling in confusion.

  
“To sleep, hopefully,” he said with a restless sigh, though he very much doubted he would find rest tonight. He walked to the furthest end of the bedroom, where there was a small chaise. Too small for his frame, but he wouldn’t complain about that right now, not when Elizabeth looked so…vulnerable. Although she would likely smack him if he dared to use such a word to describe her. He self-consciously removed his breeches and jacket under the cover of a discarded blanket and lay down in his long shirt, curling on his side to try to fit as much of his body onto the chaise as possible. He risked a glance at her over his shoulder.

  
She was huddled deep under the blankets, with just her inscrutable eyes visible above the light quilt.

  
“Good night,” he whispered.

  
“Good night,” she replied, and rolled away from him, disappearing into a cocoon of honey hair and rumpled blankets.

  
When her breathing stabilized, he allowed himself to release the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He hugged his knees to his chest, feeling somehow very small and child-like despite his years. He felt a dampness on the velvet cushion under his cheek and realized that he had been crying. How utterly pathetic.

  
He couldn’t help but be heartbroken, though. He was a romantic underneath his cool exterior. Well, at the end of the day, their marriage was “a smart match”. So he had been told countless times by well-meaning people. He should not have expected happiness for either of them. He told himself sternly that he would settle for quiet companionship. She considered him a friend, didn’t she? At least a family friend…they had had some good memories together from when she was growing up, when she used to follow him around the fort, lifting every single nautical object he owned and speculating about each of them--quite loudly--informing him how she would run things if she was in his position, and…he closed his eyes, a much older Elizabeth’s haunted expression dancing before his eyelids. Despite the fact that he knew she was only a few yards away, he felt unbearably lonely. That, at least, was a bitter if familiar reminder that some things remained the same.


	2. Wedding Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of a poor reputation, must be in want of a husband. Or something.

The marriage to James Norrington had been Elizabeth’s idea; the second time around, anyway.

  
It hadn’t been her first choice, certainly.

  
She was _supposed_ to marry Will. In fact, she had nearly accomplished it, but for that devil Cutler Beckett. He showed up to Port Royal a scant six months after Jack’s dubious departure to “bring some order to this damned place” and he had wasted no time in cutting back on some of Port Royal’s most beloved pastimes: whoring, drinking, and gambling. With that done, he turned his eyes towards the real prize: pirates and those willing to turn a blind eye to them.

  
The wedding was a private ceremony in a little church on a less frequented part of the island. Her father was there; Will, of course; her maid and confidant, Estrella; and one or two of Will’s friends. Some of her most vibrant childhood memories were of this church with the cool flagstones leading to the altar, the chilling intonations of the choir, running her hands along the stained class figures. She wasn't an especially religious child then, and she wasn't a particularly religious adult now, but she did enjoy the peace and calm of the church.

  
That self-righteous look in Beckett’s eyes as he slapped down the warrants over her and Will’s joined hands was enough to make her blood boil. “I’m afraid I must interrupt this merry gathering,” he had said, sounding quite pleased with himself. Instinctively, she reached for a shiv that she wasn’t carrying. “King’s orders.”

  
The Anglican priest glanced between Elizabeth and Will in alarm. “Sir, this is a house of God, I’m afraid I must ask you to le—”

  
“Oh, don’t waste my time with that supernatural tripe,” Beckett interrupted, waving him away as if he were a mettlesome fly. “God can wait. These two are criminals and will be brought to justice.”

  
Elizabeth caught Will’s gaze and she knew he was about to do something rash; for a rather canny man, his common sense was somewhat lacking where she was concerned. She shook her head at him, almost imperceptibly, as her father teetered towards them.

  
“Lord Beckett,” Weatherby Swann exclaimed, pretending to be delighted. “While you were not expected, you are most welcome, that is, I hope that—”

  
He was silenced by a gunshot. Elizabeth cried out, but realized neither of the two men she loved had been shot. Beckett lowered his smoking pistol from where he had pointed it at the ceiling. A bit of skylight peeked through the newest addition to the church’s roof. “That’s quite enough,” he said sharply. “I will not be interrupted again. Guards,” he snapped at the two redcoats behind him, “escort these two brigands to the fort.”

  
The guards looked uncomfortable as they approached the nearly wed couple, but grabbed them firmly all the same.

  
“Will,” Elizabeth cried out as the smaller guard led her away by her upper arms. “I love you, Will. Don’t fight them. We will figure something out.”

  
But Will was not content to wait and “figure something out”. The guard grabbed him under his arms, attempting to prevent him from fighting back—but Will was faster, and angrier, and he threw his head back violently, causing the guard to make a disgusting, guttural noise as his nose spurted forth with blood. The guard released him temporarily.

  
Beckett did not seem impressed by this and leveled his pistol at Will’s handsome face. “Down, boy,” he instructed disdainfully. “I would hate to mar that pretty face.” Will spat at him. Then Beckett pistol whipped him, knocking him to the ground with a surprising show of force for such a small man.

  
“Will,” Elizabeth screamed as the guard half-carried, half-dragged her away. “Please. _Please_—”

  
She dimly heard her father’s protests, Beckett’s dismissive voice, Will’s pained groans, the priest’s pleading, but it all became white noise when Will looked up at her hopelessly through swollen eyes. _Will, my love, my darling, please—_

  
Her wedding bouquet—white roses, baby’s breath, lilies—fell to her feet and was immediately crushed by the guards’ pristine boots.  
For the first time in her life, Elizabeth felt truly helpless.

* * *

Somehow, Jack had known.

  
He _always_ knew.

  
He had sent for Will through some visiting “merchants”. They had arrived a scant three days after the arrests of Will and Elizabeth and, despite Beckett’s best efforts, had managed to smuggle Will out of the fort prison through a combination of bribery, booze, and violence. Elizabeth only realized what was happening when she heard an ominous thud from the next cell over, and saw a guard’s head hit the ground at her feet. She didn’t scream, but rushed over to the bars for a better look, intrigued and hopeful.

  
Three tall men had Will by the upper arms. Elizabeth didn’t recognize any of them, and their voices were heavily accented—Dutch, she realized after a moment.

  
“Who are you?” Will blurted out, and her heart soared. His voice was hoarse, but he sounded alright. When he came into view, she thrust her hand through the bars.

  
“Elizabeth!” He had known she was nearby, but he hadn’t realized how infuriatingly close she was. “Wait—we can’t leave without her! I—I won’t!” He struggled valiantly, but the men were taller and stronger than him—an irritating realization for the sturdy blacksmith.

  
“Where are you taking him?” She cried, panicking as the men lead him out of view.

  
They ignored the question. “This is for you,” one of them grunted, reaching over to her cell and stuffing a crumpled piece of paper into her hand.

  
“But what about me?” She cried after them.

  
“Elizabeth, I swear, I will get you out,” Will shouted, before one of them clapped a hand over his mouth and hushed him.

  
“Will,” she said helplessly. She watched as they led him down the dark, damp hallway and out of her line of sight.

  
She sank against the grimy wall of her cell, fighting down tears. She remembered the note a moment later and carefully unfolded it in her lap. With shaking hands, she began to read:

_My dear Lizzy,  
I came for the boy, as he is the more delicate of the two of you and I worry about his fragile constitution in prison. Don’t worry, ol’ Jack will look after him. I have plans for him. And I’ll bet a pretty penny your father will have you out by the end of this day. I heard he’s pulling some strings back home, savvy? Stay out of trouble, luv.  
Cordially yours,  
Captain Jack Sparrow_

\--

A day later, Elizabeth was seated with her father and Beckett in the governor’s study. Jack was right; her father had somehow managed to swing a deal. She had no doubt that there was quite a bit of money involved, as well. How much exactly, she wouldn’t find out until later. In the meantime, she was clean and relatively calm for the first time in days. Her familiar canopy bed was much softer than the wooden planks of her jail cell bed.

  
Beckett, for his part—and despite losing Will—looked like a cat who got into the cream.

  
He sat far too comfortably in the study with his impeccably shined boots resting arrogantly on the coffee table, regarding the two Swanns with undisguised malice.

  
“Well, well, Miss Swann,” he said with a nasty smile. “Had a change of heart, have we? Decided to give up the life of a pirate whore for that of a proper Englishwoman?” He regarded her over his steepled fingers before taking a long sip of her father’s favorite Chardonnay.

  
Weatherby visibly stiffened at the language, grasping Elizabeth’s bruised hand with his clammy one.

  
“After all the money you have so recently _acquired_, sir, you are more the whore than I,” Elizabeth snarled. Her nails bit into her legs through the thick layers of her dress. “Isn’t that what they call it when you are purchased? Whoring?”

  
Beckett was on his feet in a moment, brandishing his sword with what Elizabeth felt was really, truly, an unnecessary amount of pomp. Small man, large ego. “May I remind you that you are only here, alive, at your father’s _begging_? And that I can have you returned to prison at any moment that I so choose?”

  
Elizabeth met his gaze coolly. That wasn’t true, and both of them knew it. Her father did have some well-placed connections in England; a few words in the right ear persuaded the king to reduce the executions to Will and Jack only (she found herself grateful that Jack had only taken Will, after all. It would have been impossible even for her family to rescue her reputation if she had gone with Jack and Will a second time). It had not been a terribly hard sell, really; her father’s mother was a cunning woman and knew how effective well-placed compliments—and bribes—could be. Not to mention how embarrassing it was for the Crown to reckon with a lovely young Englishwoman scorning a life of privilege to play pirate. No, it was much better to pass this off, both in England and Jamaica, as a girl’s foolish whim, rather than contend with the fact that she was a very clever and capable person, quite willing to stand up to the Crown. It would have been wildly unpopular, at least among the liberals, to execute a young woman and English subject, regardless of her crimes. Her grandparents had known of her predicament before she did; news did not travel quickly between England and her colonies, but Beckett pounced at the opportunity to seize what he perceived as a power vacuum, and the Royal Navy was nothing if not efficient—soon London was abuzz with the news that Beckett was on the warpath, headed to Jamaica to apprehend his prey. And certainly, the fact that her father was a governor did not hurt. Yes, Beckett was mollified by his new wealth and his power over the governor, but that would not sate him for long.

  
And then there was the matter of mollifying Elizabeth, herself.

  
“Yes, my father and I certainly appreciate your generosity,” she said bitingly. She did not stand to meet him, but glared up at him from the couch.

  
“You’d better not give me cause to regret it, either. And don’t forget your part of the bargain,” he warned her.

  
Elizabeth closed her eyes, squeezing her father’s hand. How could she forget? For all her plotting and scheming, she was right back where she had started: forced into a marriage of someone else’s choosing. That is, if anyone on Port Royal could be convinced to marry her, with half her dowry gone (thanks to Beckett, she had learned only hours earlier) and her reputation in tatters. And that wasn’t even taking into account her reputation as a strong-willed, quarrelsome (not her words) woman, before the whole pirates thing. No, Elizabeth knew that her options were very limited, but she had to try to make a “smart match”, to convince the Crown that she was truly settling down into the role of a proper society woman. How perfectly nauseating.

  
Her father rubbed his thumb over her knuckles soothingly. “We shan’t forget, Lord Beckett, and we thank you for your kindness and attentiveness in this matter,” the governor said smoothly. “I will personally see to it that she is quickly and safely married. She will soon become an example to all of Port Royal’s ladies, I am sure.”

  
Beckett snorted. Elizabeth’s right eye twitched. _Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t we, Father?_ She thought, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

  
“I’m sure,” Beckett simpered, mimicking the governor’s tone.

  
Weatherby rose to shake his hand, which Beckett pointedly ignored, although he allowed Weatherby to escort him to the foyer of their home. “I will be back to check on you in a week’s time,” he told Elizabeth. “I expect a substantial change in behavior.”

  
Elizabeth glowered at him, but said nothing. Her silence caused him to smirk, and she took a breath to steady herself. She wanted so badly to hurl that glass at him and stain the perfect cream of his cravat with wine.

  
When she heard Beckett leave, she sank onto the chaise, covering her face with her hands. A few minutes later, her father returned and sat next to her, rubbing comforting circles on her back.

  
“My dear, you are very lucky to be alive and free,” he said quietly, but with meaning.

  
“I know, Father.” The words came out soft and shaky through her fingers.

  
“We must attend to this quickly, Elizabeth.”

  
“Yes, Father.”

  
Her uncharacteristic obedience visibly unsettled him. “Have you considered your options?” He asked uncertainly.

  
Elizabeth laughed bitterly. “My options? Father, there is only one man in Port Royal who would have considered me, and I publicly jilted him. And helped a pirate escape on his watch.” James Norrington was a good man, a fine man, but even he had his limits. And he certainly had no love for Jack Sparrow.

  
Weatherby paused, consternation wrinkling his brow. “Still…”

  
She sighed. She knew what had to be done. “I know. I will talk to him.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, willing her pride to soften somewhat. Really, it wasn’t James that she objected to so much as the whole institution of marriage. And especially in this manner, when she was so clearly being punished for acting out of line with what society expected from a young noblewoman. And now she had to go begging to him after turning him down. The whole situation was really unbearable.

  
But Will was gone. And Elizabeth’s arrest and near-execution had aged her father years. It horrified Elizabeth to see the unruly gray hairs and fine lines, the tremble in his mouth when he said her name. She was his only child. She had almost cost him everything. But she was still alive, still here, and she resolved to take better care of herself for his sake.  
She did not allow herself to think of Will. Instead, she leaned over and kissed her father on the cheek, picked up her sun bonnet, and set out to find James.

\--

James Norrington was not the type of man who was easily surprised, but Elizabeth somehow managed to do it without expending any noticeable effort. When she showed up at his doorstep Saturday morning with her maid in tow, requesting to speak with him in private, he could not have been more astonished than if she had bludgeoned him in the head with a sword hilt.

  
“May I come in, Commodore?” She asked, chin held high. Her brown eyes glimmered dangerously. Was she angry at him? He thought, confused.

  
He swallowed, wondering what he had done to earn his erstwhile ex-fiancée’s ire. But he managed to hide his turbulent emotions; at least, he hoped he did.

  
“Of course,” he said smoothly, opening the door to admit the two women into his home.

  
“I’ll just be waiting here, mum,” the maid told her helpfully, seating herself in the parlor without so much as a “hello” to James. It was dreadfully improper to leave the two of them alone together, but no one else was in the house to see them; most of the servants were having lunch in the staff kitchen and he was not expecting any visitors.

  
“Thank you, Estrella,” Elizabeth said wearily. “Jam—that is, do you think we could talk somewhere, Commodore?”

  
“Certainly.” He bowed jerkily and led her out of the parlor, just out of earshot of Estrella. “This is…unexpected, Miss Swann. I hope everything is alright.”

  
“Well, now that I’m out of prison, yes,” she said airily, making a great study of her surroundings. She had seen the inside of his home once or twice before, but this felt…different. And strange.

That had not been the answer he was anticipating, clearly.

“Pardon?” He asked in a strangled voice.

  
She looked at him strangely. “Did you not know? Beckett had Will and I imprisoned for the past five days. Because of…well…” She trailed off, slightly embarrassed at her role in Jack Sparrow’s escape.

  
James had not moved in the past minute. He looked like a man frozen in time. “Beckett,” he managed finally.

  
“Yes, Commodore, are you quite alright?” She asked, confused. She tilted her head to the side, a stray curl falling from her sunhat. “I thought…well, I assumed everyone in Port Royal knew.”

  
“No,” he began slowly, turning to face her. His arms were folded across his chest, his knuckles were white with tension. A muscle leaped in his jaw as he forced himself to take several deep breaths. He had to get to the bottom of this. “No, I was reporting at a nearby naval base… for my actions regarding Sparrow, as it turns out.”

  
Elizabeth tensed suddenly, her brow creasing in worry. “What did the Navy have to say?”

  
“Never mind that,” James said tersely, uncharacteristically dismissing her question. “Prison. Elizabeth. Dear God. I…” His eyes flickered across her face, searching for something. If she was upset that he used her Christian name, she didn’t show it. “I should have been here to help you. Dammit. Damn him.” He closed his eyes tightly, looking pained. He was trembling slightly. She had never seen him so angry. “I ought to skin that cur.”

  
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. She had certainly never seen _this_ side of him before. Was all this concern…merely for her? Or did he think Beckett was abusing his authority and therefore neglecting his duties as a Navy man? Probably the latter, she reasoned. He likely had little affection left for her now and was only humoring her as the daughter of an old friend. “James…it’s alright. My father pulled some strings. I can explain in detail later, if you’d like.” Hearing his name on her lips calmed him slightly. So softly, she said it. She laid a hand on his arm hesitantly and turned her face up to his, those warm eyes beseeching. “But…I’m afraid I must ask for your help.”

  
His lips parted slightly, and he wanted very badly to lean down into her upturned face and kiss her, just once, so she might know how relieved he was that she was safe. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back, forcing himself to look at her levelly. Those wide brown eyes would be his undoing, truly. “Anything,” he said quietly, and the look in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. And he knew he meant it. Of course she had hurt him. Of course there was his pride to think of. But it would not do to pretend that he didn’t still care for her. That would be as futile as trying to fight the tide. Loving Elizabeth was inevitable. And even if she had hurt him, even if some small petty part of him wanted to hurt her back, he knew he was powerless against whatever she might ask of him.

  
She bit her lip and looked around the corner of the parlor room uneasily, attempting to muster her courage. “I am seeking protection,” she admitted.

  
He frowned slightly, unsure of her meaning.

  
“I need a husband,” she said briskly, willing the color to fade from her cheeks. “It was one of Beckett’s conditions…to prove that I am integrating back into proper society.”

  
The corner of James’ mouth twitched, as if in amusement, but he didn’t look happy. “A husband,” he repeated. He wasn’t even embarrassed at his dim-witted response because he was still struggling to process her words.

  
“Yes, James,” she said, taking a deep breath and biting her lip slightly. She swallowed, looking quite uncomfortable. “Frankly…you are the only man I could even think to ask to consider marrying me. What I am requesting is unfair to you,” she interrupted as he opened his mouth to speak. “Cruel, even. I will not begrudge you if you won’t go forward with this, after what I have put you through. And…Father spent a great deal of my dowry setting me free. You will have the prestige of being a part of the governor’s family, but the money will not be what you might have hoped for.” At last she broke eye contact, her dark lashes brushing the tops of her rosy cheeks as she stared determinedly at a set of buttons on his waistcoat.

  
James stood there in his own parlor, dumbfounded, opening and closing his mouth several times—rather stupidly—like a fish out of water. But he had already answered her, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he told her he would give her anything? But the agony of being married to her when she didn’t love him tore through him like shrapnel. Oh, this was cruel indeed. Crueler still that she was calmly discussing her dowry with him, as if they were two fishwives in the market haggling over the price of tuna.

  
A lesser man would have made her sweat it out. But James could not do that. Truthfully, he didn’t even want to do that, even though he was handing this woman his heart to break, _again_. He would never have given an enemy at sea this kind of power over him. And yet, with Elizabeth…well, there was not much he could do.

  
“I will marry you,” he said firmly. “Of course. I will keep you safe.”

  
Elizabeth let out a shaky breath, and he realized she had thought he would turn her down. “Thank you,” she said, her voice quavering a little.

  
He wanted so badly to take her in his arms and press his face into her golden hair, but he didn’t dare. “All I have is yours,” he said quietly. “You have only to ask.”

  
He saw tears pooling in her eyes, but graciously pretended not to notice. “You are a better man than I deserve,” she said, sniffling slightly.

  
“I do not think that any man could deserve you, truthfully,” he replied with a sad smile. “But I shall endeavor to be a good husband to you, if that will keep you out of trouble.”

  
She nodded.

  
They stared at each other for a long moment, uncertain what to say.

  
Elizabeth looked like she was about to shatter into a million pieces, so after a small eternity, James forced himself to break the silence. “I take it your father knew that you were coming here,” he said casually, as if they were discussing the state of the potted hyacinth in the corner.

  
“Yes,” she agreed, grateful for his even tone.

  
“Well, I presume that you would like this to be a small affair, but all the same, I will leave the arrangements to you, if that is alright.” He gazed at her steadily, willing his heartbeat to slow down somewhat.

  
“I will take care of everything,” Elizabeth said resolutely, with a touch of her old spirit. He smiled, just a tiny bit. “And James…” She blushed slightly. “Thank you.”

  
“There is nothing to thank me for,” he said, a little irritated. Honestly, what must she think of him?

  
She regarded him curiously, her eyes narrowed as if she wanted to argue, but thought better of it. He looked back at her, more than a little defiant. “Very well,” she said slowly. “Well. I suppose I’ll be heading back home now.” She dipped a small curtsy and turned back towards Estrella in the parlor.

  
“Wait,” James said, grasping her hand before she could walk away.

  
She gasped slightly, and he blinked in confusion before he saw the marks and bruises on her pale hand. _Beckett would pay for this._ “I’m sorry—I didn’t realize—” He stammered. Unable to stop himself, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it delicately, barely brushing the bruised skin. “I will take care of you,” he promised her.

  
Her eyes softened slightly and she even afforded him a small smile. “I know, James,” she said simply. “You’re a fine man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who gave kudos and comments on the previous chapter. I am really excited to move forward with this fic. Now, let's go back a bit and find out how exactly James and Lizzie wound up married.
> 
> ** An afterthought ** I maybe made Beckett a tad over-dramatic. I wasn't entirely sure how to write him, truthfully.


	3. The First Day

Elizabeth woke the next day groggy and confused. The bed was unfamiliar; she didn’t recognize the bedroom; even the sunlight streaming in through the windows seemed foreign somehow. She sat up drowsily and rubbed her eyes. She glanced over to the chaise under the sofa, half-remembering James falling asleep there.

James. Her husband.

She didn’t have to worry about what she was going to say to him, though, because he had woken up before her, it seemed.

Curious, she slipped out of bed, carrying the comfortable quilt around her shoulders like a cape. She tiptoed out into the hallway, glancing around the seemingly deserted manor. Besides the master bedroom, there were two smaller bedrooms and a sitting area on the upper level. All three rooms were sparse and clean. The maids had likely come through already and dusted while she slept.

How long had she slept, anyway? She glanced over the railing to the tiled floors of the lobby downstairs, bathed in a buttery yellow light. Her stomach rumbled loudly and she realized that she hadn’t eaten much since the wedding luncheon the day before; she could barely keep her dinner down last night, she was so anxious.

Time to explore a bit, then.

She eyed the smooth cherrywood banister appraisingly. It was a nice reminder of home. She loved gliding down the railing at the Swann residence as a girl (and, truthfully, sometime after girlhood, too). It was very quiet in the Norrington home. She glanced around. It was mid-morning, possibly even noon. Likely the household staff was at lunch. Well, then…

Giddily, Mrs. Norrington hopped onto the stair railing, balancing precariously on her upper thighs. The wood was sturdy, recently polished. She glided down at a delightful speed, not bothering to conceal a triumphant laugh as she skittered to a stop at the bottom, landing lightly on her bare feet, as agile as a cat.

Perhaps there were some boons to married life. No one could tell the lady of the house not to slide down the railings, at any rate.

But no sooner had she thought that then she turned her broad smile on a startled servant girl, a few years younger than herself. “Oh,” she exclaimed, clapping a hand over her mouth and struggling not to laugh. “I apologize…I thought I was alone.”

The servant girl’s hazel eyes were wide. “Begging your pardon, ma'am,” she said in a thick Irish accent. “I was just going upstairs to check on you and see if you would like some coffee or tea brought to you. But here you are,” she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

Elizabeth laughed, delighted at the girl’s mild impudence. “Here I am,” she agreed. “I wouldn’t say no to some tea…would you mind showing me to the kitchen?”

The girl bobbed a curtsy and brushed a tendril of dark hair out of her eyes. She was all knees and elbows; big eyes in a narrow face, almost fox-like in her appearance. “Certainly, ma'am. Right this way.”

Elizabeth followed the younger woman over the checkered tiles through a narrow hallway with a low, stucco ceiling—quite pleasant to the touch, she mused, running her hands over it with a proprietary air—and into a little alcove where she could see a stove; several tables laden with fresh fruits and vegetables; and an oven that radiated warmth and the comforting smell of fresh bread.

Elizabeth went over to the kettle and made to pour herself a cup of tea, but a sharp voice rang out behind her, startling her into nearly dropping the teacup:

“Aoife! What is it you think you’re doing, then? Take the lady into the dining room, we’ll wait on her there…honestly!”

Elizabeth recognized the plump, matronly housekeeper she met yesterday, the one who had fussed over her weight.

The girl, Aoife, blushed a bit, but looked a little defiant nevertheless. “Sorry, Mrs. Reynolds, I meant no disrespect—she did ask to be taken to the _kitchen_—”

“Smart arse,” Mrs. Reynolds scolded with a black look in her eyes. Turning to Elizabeth with a sunny disposition, she said kindly, “Wonderful to see you up and about, Mrs. Norrington. If you’d like to take a seat in the dining room, I’ll have some fresh scones brought out to you, piping hot!”

Elizabeth had seen her kind before and knew when to pick her battles. She gave Aoife a wink and said obediently, “That would be _most_ refreshing, Mrs. Reynolds, I thank you.”

She slipped into the next room, chuckling a little as the housekeeper continued to chastise Aoife. She was rather charmed by the pair of them. Mrs. Reynolds reminded her of a plump, noisy pigeon, in the most endearing way. Aoife seemed more of a crow, teasing and aloof, the kind that might torment a dog from a tree.

She sat down on one of the velvet lined seats and smoothed out the wrinkles of her nightgown. She should have been embarrassed at being dressed so casually while everyone had been awake for hours, but she decided that she was allowed to be a little indulgent.

Her thoughts went to James again—where was he? Surely the Navy had allowed him a few days free to celebrate his joyful nuptials? Or maybe he was simply avoiding her.

She smiled gratefully when Aoife appeared at her side with a blue patterned Dutch plate piled high with steaming scones and a nice cup of tea—not the one she had almost dropped moments earlier. “Thank you,” she said, beaming up at the young woman.

“See that you eat all of those,” Aoife said in a conspiratorial whisper. “She’s quite insistent. I’ll get extra chores if you don’t.”

“Aoife!” Came the call from the next room. “Don’t be bothering the lady! She has better things to do than talk to you, I’m sure…”

Elizabeth made a sympathetic face and the Irish girl laughed before obediently returning to the kitchen.

Alone, she found her thoughts turning, inevitably, to Will. She stirred a lump of sugar into her tea, thinking that the watery brown color was far too weak to be compared to Will’s bright eyes but wishing for the comparison anyway, striving to find little bits of him everywhere. What was he up to? She hadn’t had any letters, but then, it had only been a week or two since his departure. She couldn’t help but worry. How could she _not_ worry, when he was with _Jack_, arguably the least responsible person they had ever met? Worry and yes, jealousy. She was jealous that it was Will off having adventures while she was playing house.

The thought made her stomach sour a little, but she forced herself to eat at least one scone. As she picked it apart absently, her eyes wandered to the window overlooking the front lawn. To her surprise, she saw her husband walking briskly up the path towards the manor.

Startled, she almost thought about retreating to the bedroom to avoid him, and was immediately mortified by the thought. What was she afraid of, anyway? It was only James. Stuffy, reliable, businesslike, not altogether unattractive—but far too orderly for her tastes—James. She stood up briskly and brushed the crumbs off of her dress before—oh no. She was still in her nightgown. The position of the sun told her that it must have been noon by now, and here she was with scarcely a stich of clothing. She remembered the quilt around her shoulders and felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment.

Now escaping to the bedroom didn’t seem like such an unreasonable idea.

She slipped out of the dining room into a hallway leading to the back of the house. Surely James would stop by the kitchen for a bit of lunch, first. She couldn’t imagine why else he would be home in the middle of what she assumed was a regular working day.

How like James not to take a day off even after something like a wedding, she thought disdainfully, rolling her eyes.

She spied the enormous tiled lobby from her little alcove and darted for the stairs, but came to a skittering halt when James entered from the opposite side and regarded her with no small amount of surprise.

“Elizabeth,” he said in a strange tone. His green eyes raked over her, taking in the mussed hair, the quilt about her shoulders, the flimsy nightgown that hung just past her knees. “I…I didn’t expect to see you.”

“Well, I live here now,” she quipped, but it was the wrong response, clearly.

He stiffened visibly, uncomfortable. He straightened, clasping his hands behind his back. “Indeed,” he agreed cordially. “I hope you are finding everything to your satisfaction?”

Elizabeth bit her lip, trying not to laugh. Did he have to be so bloody formal? “Quite satisfactory,” she said, mimicking his straight-backed pose. When she straightened, his eyes flitted to her left breast for just a moment, where a rosy nipple was just visible through the gown. She noticed, and he noticed that she noticed, and they both reddened.

Desperate to break the silence, Elizabeth tugged the quilt closer about her and inquired casually, “Are you at the fort today?”

“Yes,” James answered, visibly relieved. “Yes, I…I had some pressing matters to attend to, I hope you’ll forgive me…but I will be back by dinnertime.”

“Of course,” she said graciously. “I…I have some errands to attend to in the meantime…”

James gave her an odd look and looked down at her bare feet, silently questioning this statement. “Of course,” he repeated. “I’ll…leave you to it then.” With a jerky motion, he bowed slightly from the waist and walked out the way he had come. Elizabeth wondered why he had even come into the lobby.

When she heard his footsteps recede, she scampered up the stairs to finally get dressed for the day.

She settled on a plain yellow day frock and an ivory shawl. She attempted to brush some of the tangles out of her hair before huffing impatiently and weaving it into a thick braid. Estrella had liked to fuss over her hair at her father’s house, but now that she was a married woman, she ought to get a proper lady’s maid of her own…but for now, the braid would do.

Her foray into town was mostly quiet. She did receive a few disapproving stares from some of the town’s matrons for being out and about alone, but she gave her best winning smile—with a hint of teeth—and she was mostly left alone.

Despite her better judgement, she went to the smithy.

Elizabeth glanced around the deserted street and descended into the cavernous workshop. She delicately stepped over Mr. Brown snoring in the doorway. Will’s erstwhile former employer appeared to be drunk and completely unconscious. Just as well, really. It wouldn’t do for the commodore’s wife to be seen skulking about the smithy, making small talk with blacksmiths.

She carefully picked her way through the dirty little room over to Will’s former chambers. It was a sad little den, a nest, really. His blankets were still there over a mattress of loosely packed straw. A small pile of his tools lay next to the pillow, but other than that, it was mostly bare. Glancing behind her to check that Brown was still asleep, she knelt beside the makeshift bed and brought the musty blanket to her nose, trying to find some trace of Will. He smelled of leather and oil and sweat, a rather unpleasant combination, but from him it was so earthy and real, so unlike the perfumed men of her own class. As she lifted the fabric, a soiled piece of paper fluttered to the stone floor.

Intrigued, she brushed some stray pieces of hay away from it and lifted it to her eye level:

_My dear_ _Miss Swann:_

_ You are scowling as you read this, because I insist on speaking to you in such formal terms. But it is only proper. We may have been Elizabeth and Will for a short time, but now we are back to Miss Swann and Mr. Turner. I suppose it was inevitable. It is the natural order of things, I’m told. _

_ My almost wife. You looked so beautiful up there at the altar, I could scarcely breathe. Seeing you in white before the priest, I could almost believe in our future happiness. I should have known better. Apart from knowing you, Fortune has never been kind to me._

_ I must be honest with you now. Elizabeth, I should never have tried to marry you. It was wrong. I would have condemned you to a life well beneath the station you deserve, had we gone through with the wedding, had Beckett not separated us. I never wanted the life of a blacksmith’s wife for you. I only ever wanted you, but you were never mine to want. To pretend otherwise is childish, selfish. _

_ Elizabeth, as I write this, I am on board a ship with Jack and God knows what other sorts of people. We are headed for the port city of Cádiz. I don’t know what exactly Jack has planned, only that he wants to escape the Crown and where better to go to than England’s enemy, Spain? I suppose this, too, was inevitable—I never belonged at Port Royal. It was only by your kindness that I lasted as long as I did. I must now seek my fortunes elsewhere._

_I would have taken you with us, against my better judgement, if I had been able. I have never been able to resist your demands for adventures…so I suppose it is just as well that I was taken from you. Now you have a chance to start your life over. Jack, as I’m sure you know by now, arranged to break us out, but he thought it was too risky to take the governor’s daughter. He insisted you would be safe and God I hope he was right. If you see this letter now, it means my old schoolmate succeeded. I wrote to him—it was too risky to write to you directly—and asked him to hide it at the smithy with my old things, just in case you came by. I have no right to ask this of you, but please let me know that you are safe. I have been hounding every passing ship to ask of news from the Caribbean. I know I have no right to you anymore—to your thoughts, to your feelings. _

_I release you from any obligations to me as your fiancé. I love you, Elizabeth, and I hope you will forgive me some day._

_Please, if you can find it in your heart, write to me so I know you’re alive. _

_ Your friend always,_

_ William Turner_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, now that I have satisfied my own tedious need for plot, we can get to the things that REALLY matter with Norribeth...marital fluff and smut :D Don't worry, the next chapter or two I have planned will be a lot of fun...we'll get to see more of the two of them together, awkwardly navigating their new relationship. 
> 
> Please don't be upset with Will. He had no choice in the matter (leaving) and he wants what he thinks is best for Elizabeth even as he wants her for himself (who wouldn't want to marry Elizabeth?). Also, er, I kind of need him out of the picture. Sorry, Will. We will probably see Jack and Will at some point again in the future, but I'm not sure yet in what capacity.
> 
> *Aoife is pronounced EEE-FUH. She looks a little like Saoirse Ronan. Mrs. Reynolds may or may not be based on Mrs. Quinn from Derry Girls.


	4. A Smart Match, They Said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James tells Elizabeth something she didn't know, and Weatherby has a bit of a mishap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers. This chapter is a bit long--actually, it's more than half the current word count (9K). 
> 
> And we finally get to James' POV for the first time since the first chapter. I am trying--roughly--to alternate between James and Elizabeth. We'll see what Elizabeth made of Will's letter, but not just yet.

James Norrington was not a man accustomed to explaining himself. For all his faults—and he had many, he thought grimly—poor decisions were not his usual cadre. And yet, letting Jack Sparrow escape had been just that. Oh yes, of course Elizabeth was partly to blame, with her flashing eyes and fine words, and Will Turner next to her with that damned stubborn, somehow pitiful expression on his face looking more like the boy he had plucked from the sea than a grown man, and honestly…the two of them were impossible. And Jack Sparrow, grinning benignly above it all like some trickster god before making his untimely exit. There was no excuse for James’ behavior, he knew. And yet…he couldn’t bring himself to regret letting that fool pirate go. It seemed a shame to hang a man like that, so colorful and full of fight.

Of course, the rear-admiral was not interested in such sentimental thoughts, as he had told James—in so many words.

Beckett had been right; James’ behavior was, to put it mildly, seditious. He ought to have been court martialed at the very least. The fact that he hadn’t was due mostly to luck, although that was a strange way of phrasing it: the Royal Navy was stretched quite thin across the wide British Empire, and men with James’ experience were difficult to come by. He had been forgiven. Oh, words were had, certainly, important men in imposing uniforms berated him until his ears rang; his salary had been slashed; and he would certainly never advance in the Navy ever again. But it was already difficult to post men in the Caribbean, many of whom had families behind in England; the summer hurricanes were not for the faint of heart; and then there was the matter of the pirates that still swarmed the warm waters.

And truthfully, James knew he was in the wrong. He was eager to prove his merit again. After he returned from the naval base at Port St. Thomas, he swore to himself he would push himself even harder to make up for this failing. After all, Elizabeth was to marry soon. Busying himself with work would help to cope with losing the woman he loved, or so he had hoped.

But that was not exactly how it worked out.

He had returned from base to find a tousled Elizabeth on his doorstep, that impertinent chin lifted in challenge even as she asked him for help.

His wife. How many years had he longed to call her that? 

Life was…strange. He had left the morning after the wedding even earlier than usual. Truthfully, he hadn’t seen much of her over the past few days, something he was sure she found agreeable. He wasn’t sure if he could face her, although he wasn’t sure what he was afraid of. Mostly he was uncertain how to act around her. What did she expect from him? What did he expect of her? Part of him was still hurt—and rather angry—that she thought he would force himself on her. They had known each other for a decade and he had never acted anything less than kindly and chivalrously towards her. Did she think that would change with marriage?

Yes, he was hurt, and frustrated, too. Merciless chit. Did she not realize how she threw him completely off balance with a mere glance? Living with her was a special kind of hell. He thought about their awkward encounter in the manor a few days earlier and the color rushed to his face. How did she manage to be so appealing when she was dressed as simply as a child? The sheer fabric didn’t hurt, but…ah, yes, she had seen him look. It had been an accident, but the damage was done.

James groaned and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Blearily, he forced himself to concentrate on the correspondence before him. It was going to be a long day of tedious work, and Beckett was going to call on the happy couple in a mere two days. Yet another mess to manage, he thought tiredly, and dipped his quill in the inkstand and resumed writing to his superior about the week’s report in Port Royal.

* * *

James returned late, deliberately. A few candles lit the windows of the Norrington manor, but it seemed quiet. He shrugged out of his coat and dipped into the kitchen, hoping for some food leftover from dinner. The cook would make him something fresh if he liked, but he didn’t like to bother his staff after a certain hour.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Reynolds had espied him with a rather sad-looking assortment of cheeses and slightly decaying fruit.

“Sir! Why, it’s nearly eight o’clock! Surely this isn’t what you are having for dinner?” She exclaimed, seeing her tall master stooped over his plate in the dimly-lit kitchen. “Now, there’s plenty of roast beef from this evening, and I don’t believe Mrs. Norrington ate much, either. I’ll just go tell her that you’re home, then—”

James blanched, choking on a slice of pear. “That won’t be necessary,” he tried, but she was already bustling away in search of his wife.

“Mrs. Norrington!” He heard her call. “Mrs. Norrington! Dear, your husband is home, won’t you come say hello? I’ll fix you both up with something to eat—”

James was mortified that his plans to avoid Elizabeth had failed and he was mortified that he was nervous about seeing her. Honestly, he was a Navy man. He had nearly died more times than he could count. Surely, surely he wasn’t intimidated by a woman he had known since girlhood, a girl he had more than once caught scurrying through the rigging of his ship like a common cabin boy—

But, as usual, Elizabeth was the one thing—person, rather—capable of completely undoing him.

When she appeared, softly glowing from the light of Mrs. Reynold’s candle, she seemed smaller, subdued. Her slender arms were wrapped tightly around her chest. When she got closer, her eyes were red, as if she had been crying.

He stiffened upon seeing her, wondering what had happened.

“Hello, Elizabeth,” he said simply, albeit a tad apologetically. “I thought perhaps you had retired for the evening.”

“I had,” Elizabeth agreed, still holding her wan arms against her chest as Mrs. Reynolds appeared with two glasses of port, offering them to the master and mistress. “But I was only reading.”

“Why don’t we head to the study?” James suggested. “Mrs. Reynolds, please don’t trouble yourself,” he protested as she reappeared with two plates of the promised roast beef and mashed potatoes. “I’m quite content with my meal, I assure you—”

“I’ll take these to the study, then,” she said sweetly, as if she hadn’t heard him, muttering, “A man ought to have dinner with his wife, at least.”

James watched her round form scurry out of the kitchen with purpose before turning back to Elizabeth, who was uncharacteristically quiet.

“My dear, what has happened?” He asked, unable to keep the concern out of his voice.

She held the glass of port to her rosy lips and looked at him over the rim of the glass with inscrutable eyes. If the endearment took her by surprise, she didn’t indicate it. Instead, she said simply, “I’ve received some bad news this week. Distract me, won’t you?”

James’ forehead furrowed in confusion, not taking her meaning. He opened his mouth to ask her what she meant, but she had already turned away to the study, following the aroma of warmth and soap that lingered after the housekeeper.

_Distract me, won’t you? _

He could think of several distractions he would like to try with her. He’d like to tip her head back to pepper her neck with kisses as his fingers trailed up her thighs, under her nightgown, touching her just so to see if she was wet for him. In his dreams, she always was.

He swallowed, furiously trying to focus on the conversation before him as he found himself seated in the study opposite Elizabeth, who had already downed a considerable amount of port and looked ready to consume more.

“There, now,” Mrs. Reynolds said once they had both settled down—James rather uncomfortably into the seat where he usually rested his feet; it was firm from disuse, whereas Elizabeth nearly sank into the cushion opposite, his seat—and set their meals on the small table between them. “Really, Commodore, couldn’t you have taken a few days off? You’ve only been married since Saturday!” She chided, but with a certain amount of affection.

James’ cheeks colored slightly. “I had…work to attend to,” he mumbled, which was true, but with both women peering at him intently, it felt like a rather shaky excuse.

The housekeeper reached over Elizabeth to top off her port and gave her an affectionate pat on the cheek. “See that he doesn’t keep you up too late,” she whispered, just loudly enough for James to overhear. “The poor thing was asleep for most of the day,” she explained loudly to James in such a tone that implied their nocturnal activities were really too much for his young wife. “Positively worn out, she was.”

Elizabeth’s red-rimmed eyes widened in surprise, but she clapped her free hand over her mouth, barely containing a shout of laughter. “Thank you,” she said demurely, accepting the port, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. “You have been most attentive.”

Satisfied, Mrs. Reynolds gave a curt nod and bustled away, content that husband and wife were sufficiently looked after.

Taking a steadying breath and a deep swallow of port, James risked a glance at his wife, still smiling in that sphinxlike manner. “So what happened to upset you?” He found himself asking with more heat than he intended. He did worry that some of the women in town might have been rude to her. There wasn’t much he could do about that, but if some of the men had acted inappropriately…his trigger finger twitched reflexively.

Elizabeth shook her head dismissively. “I don’t want to talk about that right now,” she said firmly. “I want to talk about you.” She then did something _extremely_ unsettling: she set aside her plate and leaned forward, chin in her hands as her elbows rested on her knees. She examined him curiously, like he was a peculiar species of animal. He felt like a fly pinned to a piece of cork. James’ brows furrowed. This was dangerous territory. _What was she playing at? What did she want?_

“What would you like to know?” He asked slowly, watching those liquid dark eyes apprehensively.

“Everything,” she replied frankly, that mischievous twinkle back in her eyes. “You already know everything about me, I’m afraid. You’ve known me since I was a girl. But I’ve only ever known you as a friend of my father’s, and…well.” She trailed off, no doubt replaying their brief engagement in her mind’s eye.

“And as a suitor,” James said quietly, fighting to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“Well, yes, but that hardly counts,” she replied, and she had the audacity to actually _pout_. James would not let himself be distracted by that annoyingly charming gesture, however.

His hands stilled over his plate and he set his utensils down rather abruptly. “Doesn’t count?” He asked, eyebrows raised. “And why is that?”

“Well, it’s not as if it was a romantic engagement,” she explained candidly, to his complete shock. He had to force himself to focus on her next words: “It was expected of you and I; it’s what my father wanted; and the prestige and money could hardly have hurt, right? A smart match. That’s what everyone said.” She calmly took a sip of her port, seemingly mindless to his internal torment.

It was too much.

He got to his feet abruptly and began to pace, hands tightly clasped behind his back. “A smart match,” he repeated dully, his even tone jarringly at ends with the fire that burned inside him.

By now, Elizabeth had realized something was wrong. She stood up, too, and tugged on his sleeve, compelling him to turn back towards her. “I see that I’ve upset you, but I don’t understand why. James? Please look at me.”

He turned to her sharply, all but glaring down into her upturned face. “It was romantic for me,” he said bitingly. “Elizabeth, every moment I had alone with you in a garden, every dance where I got to touch you, every time I saw you appear on the stairway landing of your father’s house, bright faced from some fresh mischief…Elizabeth, when I proposed to you, my heart was in my throat, my knees turned to water, I felt as if the wind had been knocked from my lungs. I’ve stared down the barrels of countless cannons at sea and _none of those instances_ scared me nearly as much as the possibility that you might say no to my proposal. I have never loved a woman as I have loved you, and I realize that you do not return my affections, but you are being cruel. I…” He took a breath to steady himself.

Elizabeth had not so much as blinked. That pretty pink mouth hung open in a perfect ‘o’ of disbelief. He could see her thoughts racing as she tried to process his words. He was breathing heavily and they were now uncomfortably close together. If he had just dipped down, just so, he could have pressed his mouth against hers. That would be infinitely preferable to whatever she had to say in response to his unseemly declaration, which he was already regretting.

“I…” She struggled for words. She looked at him helplessly, shaking her head slightly. “I didn’t know, James.” Tentatively, she reached a hand out to his face. “I’m sorry.”

He closed his eyes, unable to keep himself from leaning into her touch. “I thought you knew,” he said roughly, trying desperately to keep his emotions under control, trying not to soften under her gaze. “Elizabeth, it was always you, _only_ you. Did you really not know?” His eyes must have fairly _burned_ as his gaze bore into her. Suddenly, her answer now mattered more than anything, more than either of their proposals. Delicately, he lifted her chin, searching her face desperately for the truth.

“No,” she whispered, a bit breathily. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Was she as helpless as he felt? “I didn’t.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, neither speaking. “James,” she began, urgently, but at that point they were interrupted.

One of the valets burst into the room, startling them so that they practically leapt a foot apart. The boy picked up on the tense atmosphere, but said breathlessly, “I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir, it’s only that, well, you see—”

“What?” James snapped in an uncharacteristically rude tone. “Out with it.”

Pink-cheeked with embarrassment, the boy stuttered, “Sir, it’s the governor. He’s had a bad fall.”

Immediately, Elizabeth sprang into action, leaving the painfully intimate moment behind her. “Take me to him,” she ordered, every bit the imperious governor’s daughter. “Has a doctor been called? Tell me everything.”

The boy nodded. “Yes, ma'am, I will. I believe so, yes, the maid what told me said she had sent for a doctor. Shall I bring the coach around front, sir?”

“No, no, not enough time for that,” James replied briskly, slipping comfortably into the role of an officer assembling his men for battle. Well, except that his wife seemed to be three steps ahead of him and issuing her own orders. “We’ll just take my horse.”

Some part of his mind whispered that Elizabeth had a slight fear of horses, but there was nothing for it now. The two of them raced to the stables where James’ horse dozed lightly in its stall. He did have another two horses, but the female was only a filly and the other male was quite old. “We’ll take mine,” he said as he opened the paddock to Adao’s stall. The handsome roan snorted in disapproval at being woken, but brushed his velvety lips against James’ chest affectionately all the same.

He had him saddled in a moment and swung atop his back before reaching down for Elizabeth, who looked at Adao apprehensively. For his part, Adao didn’t seem to notice her, chewing contentedly on a bit of bread James had swiped from his dinner.

“It’s alright,” he assured her, as she tentatively placed a hand in his. “He’s very gentle. We’ll see about getting you a horse of your own later, if you’d like.” She nodded, took a breath, and stepped into the stirrup, swinging a leg over gracefully as she settled in front of him.

Of course. She wouldn’t ride sidesaddle. That would be rather impractical in their situation. Still, James allowed himself a small smile at his wife’s casual disregard for social norms. He slipped his arms around her waist and flicked the reigns. Adao obediently led them out of the stable into the dark, damp Jamaican night.

“James, we have to go faster,” Elizabeth hissed after only about a quarter of a mile.

“I thought you were afraid of riding,” James replied, trying not to focus on the heat radiating from her lithe body pressed up against his.

“My father is hurt,” she said curtly by way of explanation. She lightly kicked at the horse’s flanks, which neither James nor Adao appreciated, commanding, “_Faster_.”

Ten minutes later, they made it to the governor’s mansion, which was flooded with light. The doctor’s carriage was already out front.

Elizabeth didn’t wait for his assistance but slid out of the saddle clumsily and raced for the door.

Sighing, James dismounted and tethered Adao to the gate post before following his wife up the walkway.

They found the governor quickly enough.

Weatherby Swann was lying on the floor of his sitting room just to the right of the entryway, rubbing his head. Other than looking quite embarrassed, the gentleman appeared to be mostly alright. James recognized Elizabeth’s maid and the butler, who knelt next to the governor. The doctor—Stephen something or other—glanced up briefly, but he didn’t even manage to get a word out before Elizabeth spoke—

“Father!” She cried, sinking to the floor next to her. “My God, what happened?”

He smiled weakly. “I’m afraid I must be getting fragile in my old age,” he said with a wan smile, but his fierce-looking daughter did not return it. “Don’t look so upset, Lizzie, I just had a bit of a fall. Thankfully Angus here heard me and came to check on me.” The butler nodded dutifully at the mention of his name. “I really don’t think all the fuss is necessary, I must say…” Weatherby murmured disapprovingly, looking around at the small crowd gathered in his den. And yet, there was an odd tone in his voice that James couldn’t quite place. Weatherby was embarrassed, understandably, but there was something else.

“You are the governor of Port Royal, sir,” James reminded him pointedly. “It would be a pain to replace you on such short notice.”

Elizabeth turned on him with a gasp and a furious expression, but Weatherby laughed merrily. “Right you are, my boy,” he said, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “Well, what do you say, Doctor? Shall I sleep on it?”

“I would prefer to keep you under my watch for the rest of the night, sir,” the doctor, a young Welshman, said formally. “You did hit your head, and while there isn’t too much external bleeding, one can’t be too careful. In fact, you should try to stay awake for a few more hours at least, to make sure you haven’t damaged your brain.”

Weatherby groaned dramatically, and James fought back a chuckle. Perhaps father and daughter were more alike than it initially seemed; both hated to be kept from their sleep.

“Father, please tell me what happened,” Elizabeth urged, squeezing one of his hands. Her lower lip trembled slightly. “What were you doing when you fell?”

“Ah…” Weatherby grimaced. “Angus, would you bring us some tea? Stephen, I would like to discuss something with my children alone, if you don’t mind.”

The doctor looked like he was about to argue but upon seeing Weatherby’s mulish expression, he changed his mind. “As you wish, sir,” he said deferentially, helping Weatherby to his favorite armchair.

James gave Weatherby a quizzical look, but he couldn’t quite meet his frank gaze. “Father, we were so worried,” Elizabeth scolded, but she seemed less frantic now that she had seen him for herself. “The way the servants were acting, I half expected to see your brains all over the floor!”

“Really, Lizzie, how morbid,” he said, regarding her mildly. With a heavy sigh, he added, “Well, dear, there’s something I need to tell the two of you…”

“What is it, sir?” James knelt next to him. “If you are wanting for a new doctor, there is a bright fellow at the fort that I can ask to pay you a visit…”

“No, no,” Weatherby replied, shaking his greying head. “No, I fell because…I saw someone in the window. I was on my ladder reaching for my copy of Pliny’s Natural History when I saw…” He swallowed and looked at one of the tall bookshelves that crept towards the ceiling of the room. It was a lovely room, rather like James’ own study, with large bay windows to let open the sultry night breeze. “One of Beckett’s men. I swear it. He was far enough away that I couldn’t see his face—it was dark—but I recognized the uniform. He made sure I saw him, too. My dear…I feel very badly about all of this.” He reached over and took Elizabeth’s hand.

James’ thoughts were roaring in his ears but he forced himself to remain calm and think through Weatherby’s words logically. What would Beckett have to gain by intimidating the governor of Port Royal, who was already under his influence for allowing his daughter to escape? _Likely another power play_, James mused darkly. The governor was popular with the people, but what could he say, exactly? That Beckett had dispatched extra security to his manor, knowing full well that the intent had been to intimidate and not protect him? Who would believe that?

“I’ll have some of my men stationed here,” James offered quickly. “Good, trustworthy men.”

“Thank you, my boy, but I don’t think I am in danger,” Weatherby said with a meaningful look at Elizabeth. “But perhaps…you might ask them to guard your residence.” His soft gaze lingered on his only child, whose dark expression was nearly indecipherable to James. “I do worry, you know.”

“I would never let anything happen to Elizabeth,” James replied swiftly. “Upon my word.”

“I know that,” Weatherby said with a gentle smile, looking back and forth between the two of them. “That does put my heart at ease. Still. Please be careful. I don’t know what he is planning but I know what a threat looks like.”

Elizabeth rose to her feet and bent to kiss her father’s cheek. “I am an excellent shot, Papa,” she told him with a sly smile, making both men blanch. “It is not I who needs to be careful.”

With a fervent promise to tell them when he was recovered, the young couple prepared to leave the Swann mansion.

Weatherby grabbed James’ sleeve as he prepared to follow his wife out of the study. “Commodore, a word?”

“Of course, sir. Are you feeling worse?” James asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

Weatherby smiled gently, studying the younger man’s severe expression. “No, actually…I wanted to thank you. For looking after my daughter. You’ve saved our family with this marriage.”

James rubbed the back of his neck, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. He let his gaze wander over Weatherby’s book collection as he remarked offhandedly, “She has always had my protection. Marriage just makes it official.”

Weatherby squeezed his hand. “You should know that I am very glad to call you my son-in-law. Not only for what you have done for Elizabeth and myself. You are a fine man, Commodore.”

The words, kindly spoken, almost knocked James back, as if by a powerful gust of wind. _You’re a fine man, James_. Isn’t that what Elizabeth had said when she came to him for help? “I…I am only doing what any honorable man would do,” James responded after a pause.

“Of course,” the governor agreed, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. James wondered then if his love for the governor’s daughter was so obvious to the older man. “Take care then, Commodore.”

“James, please,” he corrected, returning the warm handshake and giving the governor a rare smile. “We are family now.”

* * *

The trip back to the Norrington manor was brief but it seemed to drag on, perhaps because they were both so quiet. Weatherby’s words hung heavily in the air between them, as did James’ unanswered declaration from before. James tried, and failed, to ignore the sweet feminine scent wafting off of Elizabeth’s hair. She fit so perfectly in his arms. He only hoped that his body was not betraying how much he enjoyed this seating arrangement. But it wasn’t the right time for those kinds of thoughts—it would never be the right time, he thought to himself rather bitterly, but somehow, having Elizabeth so close was enough for the moment. Did she hate him? Did she think less of him for loving her? But he had been so sure she knew. Now…now, he truly didn’t know.

They were almost back to the manor when she finally broke the silence. “We will need to plan accordingly for Beckett’s visit this weekend,” she mused. She didn’t sound frightened, only contemplative. “We can’t let him see that he has rattled us.”

He shouldn’t have been so pleased, but James was truly touched at her use of “we” and “us”. _Of course she is including you, you fool. You live together_, he scolded himself. He admired her unwavering tone and almost indifference to the situation. “You’re absolutely right. We will receive him as if we don’t know anything about your father. Let him make his threats out loud, if he wishes,” James mused, as Adao led them up the pathway to the stables. “Like a man.”

Elizabeth hummed approvingly.

It was quite late when they arrived. He almost didn’t realize Elizabeth had fallen asleep except that she relaxed against him slightly and her lolling head tilted just a little against his chest. He knew he shouldn’t stare, but he was transfixed by her serene expression in the moonlight. She was understandably exhausted by the ordeal. Well, perhaps they would not get back to that awkward conversation that the servant boy had interrupted. Just as well, perhaps.

James gently nudged Adao towards his stall and dismounted reluctantly. He kept a hand on Elizabeth’s waist as he landed lightly on the ground so she wouldn’t fall over, but she stumbled a little anyway, startled by the loss of contact.

She was already halfway off of the horse’s back, he reasoned, so it was only natural to pull her, just a little, into his arms. Perfectly natural.

Sleepy-eyed, Elizabeth looked up at him in surprise as he gently set her down. Her arms hung loosely around his neck. She was…adorable. It should not have been possible—she was a grown woman and, as she noted earlier, an excellent shot—but those beautiful eyes drooped slightly and her breathing stuttered just a little, and he was overcome with affection. “Oh…I suppose I didn’t realize how late it was,” she murmured, relinquishing her hold on him, to his disappointment. “’M sorry, James. Didn’t mean to use you as a pillow.”

“I can assure you, I did not take offense,” he replied, smiling down into her upturned face. He wanted to kiss her so badly, but he did not think it appropriate. Perhaps a stable was not the most romantic of places, either. He turned to Adao, who was patiently waiting to be unsaddled. “I’ll give you some extra treats tomorrow, my boy,” he promised, rubbing the animal’s nose affectionately. He looked over his shoulder to tell Elizabeth to head to bed without him—after all, they did not sleep in the same bed—but she had already left. He chided himself for feeling slightly stung. He was still craving the closeness of her warm body.

When he had taken care of Adao, he mounted the stairs of his home with more weariness than his thirty-something years seemed to warrant. He reminded himself that he had been awake since early in the morning at the fort.

When he got to the bedroom, he expected to see Elizabeth already asleep. But she was sitting up in bed with a book in her lap, reading by candlelight. She smiled when he approached.

“I didn’t expect you to be awake,” he admitted. He shrugged out of his coat and removed his boots, then hesitated. Normally, he would dress and undress while she was asleep, but she seemed—unfortunately—very wide awake.

“Well, I wanted to ask if you were comfortable,” she answered, looking slightly embarrassed. It was hard to tell by the soft yellow light of the room, but she looked almost as if she was blushing.

“Comfortable?” James asked, confused, as he sank down on the settee.

“I can’t imagine you sleep very well over there,” she explained, gesturing to the sofa.

“I can assure you, it is quite alright,” he replied formally, causing her to roll her eyes. The gesture made the corner of his mouth twitch a little, partly with amusement, partly with annoyance. Her impertinence was sometimes endearing, but sometimes he wanted to…well, he didn’t know what. Take that expression off of her face, maybe.

Elizabeth sighed noisily and flipped back the covers of the bed. “Just get in the bed, James. I know I am a poor wife but I won’t be responsible for your back pain.”

James hesitated, and her expression darkened considerably. “That’s an order,” she said, lifting a single eyebrow imperiously.

James swallowed, hoping his arousal wasn’t plain on his face. Damn that woman. “I am your obedient servant,” he said dryly, eliciting a smile from her, as he approached the edge of the bed.

He presumed she was already dressed for the evening and tried not to dwell on that fact. She seemed to be teasing him a little. Well, he wouldn’t let her nettle him. He was made of sterner stuff than that. Lightning quick, he undid his shirt and slipped into bed beside her, leaving as much room as possible between them. He forced himself to breath calmly. “Good night, Elizabeth,” he said and closed his eyes.

“James…”

He rolled over suspiciously. “Yes?”

Her brown eyes glimmered with amusement. “Do you normally sleep with your trousers on?”

Color flooded his face but he replied snidely, “I am not a cad, Elizabeth. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Truthfully, it would be nice to sleep in just his underthings, but sharing a bed with her was already more than he had expected. He didn’t want to ruin things.

“You know, I think I may have misjudged you, James,” she said with a sleepy smile. “Good night." With a contented sigh, she rolled onto her side, facing away from him.

James stared at her relaxed silhouette, wondering what that was supposed to mean. She wasn’t angry or disgusted about earlier, which was a relief. But what was she feeling, then?

He sighed and fluffed up his pillow. He wanted to go over some plans in his head—Beckett had never been far from his mind—but his body, having a soft surface to sleep on for the first time in a week, had other ideas. He was out like a light, rocked to sleep by the steady sounds of his wife’s breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me your thoughts. I have been a bit nervous since writing this story. It is my first fic for this fandom and there are already so many talented Norribeth writers out there, I worry that maybe I have not characterized James or Elizabeth well, or that the plot is lacking, or a million other things. So if you have any thoughts, please share them--complimentary or no. I want to make this an enjoyable read for everyone and thank you for reading this far. <3 
> 
> Unrelated note:  
James: Mrs. Reynolds, I don't need you to try to set me up with my own wife  
Mrs. Reynolds: Seen, 8:01 pm


	5. Seaside Rendevouz, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth misses the sea.

The visit with Beckett passed almost without remark. James managed not to run Beckett through with a bayonet, and Elizabeth managed the same feat, while playing the role of a smiling, gracious hostess.

Beckett did not believe their comely husband-and-wife act, of course. He did everything he could to needle Elizabeth into a reaction so he could hold something else against her. But she did not waver. She imagined herself the captain of a ship at sea staring down a hurricane. She would not give this man the satisfaction of intimidating her; she was made of sterner stuff than that. And now she had more reason to hate him.

Still, his visit left her drained. And agitated.

She passed the rest of the morning in the study, re-reading some of James’ navigational books. The gauze curtains billowed gently in the sea breeze, tempting her until finally she closed the atlas and went over to the window, inhaling deeply.

She had not been to the ocean since she had come to marry James. It wasn’t as if she was deliberately avoiding it, it just…hurt. Knowing that she was confined to land, she might as well have worn irons around her ankles. If she went out to the water, she would only sink. She wondered where Will and Jack were and if they had made it to Cádiz_. _Her childhood voyage from England to Jamaica seemed to take ages—keeping meticulous track of the days in her captain’s log only made it seem to take longer. The log had been James’ idea, now that she thought about it. She had been exploring—causing mischief, according to surly Mr. Gibbs—and her father’s patience was stretched thin. But James had been there to save the day. He had given her a small leather-bound journal and asked her, in his serious way, to keep track of the weather patterns, sailing conditions, and the crew (“they’re an unruly bunch, Miss Swann, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”). That had been enough to keep her preoccupied, she thought with a fond smile, at least until she found the shipwreck and Will with it.

Will. The boy she had plucked from the water. Her bonny lad. Her constant accomplice in crime, her first kiss, her oldest friend. She ran her hands along the smooth wood of the windowsill, breathing deeply to steady herself. She missed him more than anything. She thought of his letter and felt ill. How could he just cast her aside like that?

She should have seen it coming, it was true. How many times had he told her that they couldn’t be together? She refused to listen, of course. She was so certain that she would get her way in the end, that she would convince them—Will, her father, all of Port Royal—that she could marry who she loved.

And now he was half a world away on a grand adventure in beautiful Spain and she was here, married to the Commodore, as if what passed between Will and Elizabeth took place in another lifetime entirely…or perhaps never at all.

All of a sudden, she couldn’t bear to be in the beautiful manor. It felt like a gilded cage. She glanced over her shoulder. No sign of James or Aoife or any of the others, though James would be back from the fort any moment for lunch. She sat on the sill and looked out into the garden. It wasn’t too far to the ground. She swung her legs over and felt for purchase with her feet. The ivy climbing the walls was attached to some sort of trellis. She could shimmy down without too much trouble, she reasoned. Her spirits lifted at the thought of a challenge. Climbing out her window had been, of course, one of her favorite childhood activities. It had certainly made visiting Will at odd hours much easier than entering and exiting through the parlor of the Swann home.

“Elizabeth?”

She started and nearly fell out of the damn window, her hands scrabbling for purchase.

In a blink, James was at her side, a steadying hand on her elbow. “May I ask what it is you’re doing?” He asked mildly, his light tone at odds with the concern in his eyes. He was dressed in his full uniform, except for the hat, which he usually didn’t wear indoors. He smelled lightly of sweat, but it wasn't overpowering or unpleasant. He must returned from the fort while she was daydreaming.

Elizabeth flushed slightly. “I was…going for a walk,” she explained.

“From the second floor,” James said incredulously, his green eyes searching her with far too much intensity for her liking.

Now she really _was_ flushed. _Why _did he have to look so damned sensible? “I find the exercise invigorating,” she supplied helpfully, brushing a golden wave of hair out of her pink face.

“I see.” James stepped forward and pulled her off her perch, gently but firmly, his warm hands burning hot on her waist through the fabric of her thin day frock. “Perhaps we might take a walk then. From the first floor,” he amended, with the tiniest of smiles.

Elizabeth looked at him curiously. “Well…”

“Unless, of course, you were truly planning on hurling yourself out of the window. I should hate to divert you from any course you’ve truly set your heart on,” he added. There was that tiny smile again. He was teasing her.

“_Climbing_ out of the window,” she corrected him. Had he always had such a pleasant smile? She found she rather liked this side of him. “As if you could,” she added playfully as an afterthought.

James lifted a single dark eyebrow as if in challenge and that simple gesture sent a shiver down her spine. _Would_ he try to stop her if he thought she was going to do something truly reckless? He was the epitome of a gentleman, respectful—distant at times—and dutiful, but also remarkably no-nonsense. Against her better judgement, she was rather intrigued by the notion.

In truth, James’ presence was a welcome distraction from her envious thoughts about Jack and Will. She had prepared her response to Will’s letter a few days ago, but after…after what James said, she hadn’t been able to post it. Not yet. She told herself she was waiting on a more opportune time. After all, if Beckett caught her passing correspondence to pirates through her household staff, that would surely land her in hot water.

The two of them walked by the water in companionable silence for a few moments before Elizabeth slipped out of her boots and tossed them into the reeds higher up on the sand bank. “At last,” she sighed, her toes curling in the warm sand. She sank down just above the water, letting the cool seawater pool around her ankles. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply the smell of the salt-tinged wind and the damp scent of seaweed mingling in the humid air. For a moment, she was back with Jack on that island, dancing around a fire like pagans at a cult ritual ceremony, skipping and laughing as though they weren’t about to die a slow death.

She had almost forgotten James was there next to her until he spoke.

“You miss it,” he stated simply, causing her to start a little. “The sea.”

“Yes,” she whispered, staring longingly at the turquoise waters curling playfully around her ankles. “More than anything, James.”

“I know what you mean,” he confessed. “I feel ill at ease if I am on shore for too long.”

He sank down into the sand next to her, mindless of his fine uniform or the heat. He stayed a respectful distance from her, which she appreciated. She was still thinking over his declaration. Truthfully, she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. She was fond of him, though. She knew that much. She had admired him as a girl and if she had been a bit careless with his feelings as an adult, well, it wasn’t intentional. She had assumed he wanted her as an ornament, the way a general might wear epaulettes or a smith might display his craftsmanship: something to be collected, put on display, and put away again when there was no longer an audience. How was she to know he felt something more than that? He certainly hadn’t given any indication of that, not that she could tell, anyway.

“I can’t give you the life that you want,” he confided in her softly. He turned to fix those intense green eyes on her. “But I can take you sailing. Any time you’d like. You have only to ask.”

Elizabeth’s heart jumped into her throat and she knew her delight was evident on her face. “You’re going to take me out in front of your men? Aren’t you worried I’ll start a mutiny and take the ship for myself?” She asked with a grin. She was only half kidding.

A slow smile spread across his face as he replied, “That is certainly one worry. I would be more concerned that your presence would distract the crew, however.”

She sniffed disdainfully, looking down her freckled nose at him. “I’m a more competent sailor than you give me credit for, James. I can pull my own weight. I wouldn’t need their help.” Honestly, she was a woman, not an invalid, she thought crossly.

That smile spread until it nearly split his face. His eyes danced with mischief. “That’s not what I meant. I think it would be difficult for them to focus on their work with you around.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled a tiny bit. “So that is a no to the ship, then. Are we to commandeer a raft, perhaps? Lasso up some turtles, maybe?” She didn’t know if James had heard Jack’s epic narrative of how he had escaped the rum runner’s island the first time, but she wouldn’t mind trying it out herself. Perhaps James wouldn’t find it as amusing as she did.

“Actually, I have a boat,” he supplied. He held a hand to his brow, squinting into the bright Jamaican sun. “You can’t see it from here, but it is moored just beyond those rocks to the east. I would like to take you out some time.” He glanced at her, a little nervously, to gauge her reaction.

She practically beamed and squeezed one of his hands eagerly. “When do we sail?” She replied, a little breathlessly. Unconsciously, she leaned over him, close enough to see the tiny specks of gold in his gaze. He was uncommonly handsome, she thought, studying the strong line of his Roman nose. His face did not have the warm brown eyes and quick smile she had become accustomed to since childhood, but she found she enjoyed looking at it all the same.

James stared down at her small hand on his and admitted, “I would take you now, but I’m afraid I am due back at the fort this evening.” At her crestfallen expression, he added quickly, “But tomorrow, perhaps?”

_“Yes.”_

* * *

Elizabeth could hardly sleep that night, knowing that they were going sailing the next morning. For the first time in their brief marriage, she awoke before James did. She rushed over to the handsome mahogany armoire and flung it open, critically surveying her options. Hmm…corsets, a few night shifts, a couple day dresses from when she was younger…nothing quite appropriate for sailing. She frowned, lightly fingering the green cotton of a simple dressing gown, but then something caught her eye, folded neatly in the bottom corner of her wardrobe. A pair of snug breeches and a simple white shirt, folded under a handsome maroon jacket, with a pair of sturdy leather boots nearby. She felt a brief flicker of guilt because she could only imagine how James felt about this outfit, but…it was really quite practical, given the occasion. And she liked it, besides. She heard James get up, slow and sleepy, and stumble for the door. He usually dressed in the guest room down the hallway.

She slipped into the clothes, tying back her golden-brown hair with a loose leather thong. She appraised her reflection critically before bursting into an enormous grin. _Yes._ Comfortable, movable, _breathable…_really, if she didn’t worry about her father’s nerves, she would dress this way all the time. The young woman in the mirror grinned back at her—more of baring her teeth than a true smile, really. She pivoted a little, admiring her slender torso in the mirror. Now, if only she had a hat. A large one. And a sword. She lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes, pretending she was critically surveying a fine fleet of ships…_her _ships…

“Elizabeth?” Damn James and his near silent footsteps!

She was so startled that she gave out a yelp and leapt away from the mirror as if she had been burned. Her face was flushed with embarrassment, but oddly enough, so was James’.

He looked…like he was in pain, actually.

“I……I came to see if you were ready to leave this morning…” His bright green eyes swept up and down her form, just once, before hurriedly looking away, more color flooding into his cheeks. For a moment, she was more puzzled than embarrassed. Why…was he blushing? He hadn’t been the one to be caught in the act of playing dress-up, essentially. And yet, the way his Adam’s apple bopped up in down, he seemed…downright nervous. He dared to look at her again. “Are you…ready?”

She straightened, pulling the wrinkles out of her fine maroon sleeves. “I believe I am, Commodore,” she said, and then she hit a brace, hoping to make him laugh. “Do I pass inspection?”

He kept his eyes trained firmly on her face, and for some reason, this brought even more heat to her face. A ghost of a smile twitched at his lips. “Indeed. This…” He gestured to her outfit, “suits you. But,” he said, a note of warning in his voice as an enormous smile bloomed across her face, “we’ll need to be discreet. I’m afraid you’ll cause quite a stir if you are recognized, dressed like that.” At this he smirked, just a brief flash of white teeth, but it thrilled Elizabeth.

It was strange. She had never cared about James’ feelings one way or another, not as an adult, anyway. As a child, certainly, she had sought his praise and his advice and his attention in general, the way she had with many adults, it was true, but…well, it was a bit embarrassing to look back on that now, the way she had trailed after him as a small sprite with a million questions about compasses and atlases and what exactly lay at the very end of the world, and had he been there, and had he seen Cathay and Bombay and the Hottentots? But as an adult, with other companions, he became impossibly serious and difficult to approach. Now, though…she found that she liked seeing him smile.

“Discreet, yes,” she agreed, practically purring with pleasure. She slipped past him, out the bedroom door, still grinning. “So no carriage, then?”

“No, the grotto where it is moored is within walking distance, if you don’t mind a bit of exercise.”

She didn’t. She practically skipped down the steps of their new home, happily accepting the picnic basket of lunch meats and cheeses from Mrs. Reynolds, giving her an affectionate peck on the cheek. The housekeeper for her part looked quite agog at her appearance.

It was all James could do to keep up with Elizabeth, trying to quell the boyish hope that flared in his chest at her excitement. _It’s not for you_, he reminded himself. _She just wants to be on the water again_. But her bright smile and the snug breeches across her pert bottom were really quite difficult to ignore.

* * *

The sloop was small, modest. And perfect.

Elizabeth let out a whoop of excitement, running from fore to aft in a heartbeat, unable to contain her joy. She didn’t even care that James was watching her with something very akin to amusement, but he kept covering his mouth with his free hand, lest she think he was laughing at her.

She found she didn’t mind, not today, at any rate. She could taste the salt on the wind and the Jamaican sun was bearing down on them, yet it was not too harsh. The waters around them were lush and turquoise, and a flash of silver caught the corner of her eye as a school of fish passed under their little boat.

“James, this is marvelous,” she said, with all the happiness of a child on Christmas morning. “And to think you’ve been keeping this from me!” She said, half scolding. But there was a smile in her eyes and a teasing note in her voice.

James thought his heart was about to fall out of his chest at the sight of her so completely joyful. But he managed to quip, “Well, I can hardly compete with a boat, now can I?” He didn’t see the conflicted expression on her face as he turned to lower the pole into the water, and gently pushed the sloop away from the shore.

Elizabeth studied him critically, when he was safely facing away from her. He cut a fine figure, even in simple black breeches and a loose white shirt. He wasn’t wearing his wig; his dark hair was tied back in a simple tail at the base of his neck, not unlike hers. The usual worry lines in his face weren’t present, either. He seemed…relaxed. Or as relaxed as the Commodore was able to be, at any rate. When he turned back to face her, he found her eyeing him. He raised an eyebrow at her questioningly, but she hurriedly turned away, very interested in the boat’s small rudder all of a sudden.

“Well, Commodore,” she said loudly, “where are we off to?”

He smiled then, he couldn’t help it. He was immensely proud of his military rank, but somehow the way it sounded coming from her mouth…she was teasing him, but he found he didn’t mind. “I thought I would let you chart our course,” he told her, watching her face for her reaction. He wasn’t disappointed.

Her face lit up like the morning sun. He cursed internally, feeling his mouth go dry when she fixed those big brown eyes on him. How, _how_ did this woman make him so damned helpless? Like he had never so much as _seen_ a woman before? “Excellent.” She beamed. “Well, then, Commodore, there is a splendid little isle not too far south from Port Royal…”

She began to steer the sloop away from the harbor. Their manor began to blend into the blue-gray haze of the horizon. Port Royal began to recede slowly but surely. She had had practice sailing, he knew, from her short tenure at sea. But it was more than that. She leaned against the wheel as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Her quick gaze surveyed the waters confidently. Her hair came loose from the band and whipped around her face, but it only added to her wild, hedonistic charm.

He stepped in beside her, waiting to see if he could be of help. She didn’t so much as look at him over her shoulder as she hummed a jaunty tune. “I take it you have been here before?” He inquired. He probably knew the place; how many years had he spent patrolling these waters?

“Yes,” she said resolutely, leaning her upper body against the wheel. She had a faraway, dreamy look in her eyes. “When I was still a girl. I used to hide out there. Play pirate.” She smiled fondly.

James rolled his eyes, unable to let _that_ remark slide. She frowned at him, and then added, challengingly, “Of course, sometimes I wanted to play the villain, too. So I would pretend I was in the Navy.” She smirked at him, very pleased with her quip.

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly, which only made her smirk even more. “Indeed?” He inquired, looking down his aquiline nose at her. The cheek of this girl. And to tease _him_, of all people, about bloody pirates. He wanted to kiss that smirk off of her face. “I seem to recall the Navy treating you better than those pirate…friends of yours.”

She turned away from him, scoffing. She reached back to loosen the rope binding the sail to the single mast, letting it fill with air and carry them to their destination more quickly. “Well, at least I was free on the _Pearl_…the second time around, anyway,” she amended, so quietly he wasn’t sure if he had heard. “I was a _person_. Not a charge. Not a _burden. _A free sailor like any other.”

“Elizabeth…”

She stubbornly avoided looking at him. Her pale hands clenched the wheel, the gold of her simple wedding band winking at him in the sun.

Usually, he tried to respect her space—and she seemed to require a _lot_ of space, some days—but he couldn’t let that slide without comment. He stepped into her view, though his face was cloaked in shadow, as he had his back to the sun. “You _are_ free,” he said quietly, tentatively resting a hand on one of her own. “I hope you know that. I am not…your jailer.”

A muscle worked in her jaw as she stared at a point near his sternum, unable to meet his eyes. “Pretty words,” she managed finally. “It doesn’t work that way for women. I am legally your property, James. Even if you do not agree. Especially if _I_ do not agree.”

He leaned forward then, a storm raging in his eyes. He raised his hand to her chin, gently but firmly forcing her to look at him. “No,” he said quietly, but his voice was shot through with something like steel. Her eyes widened in surprise at the heat in his tone. “That is not true, not for one moment, Elizabeth. That is never what I expected from you, what I wanted from you. What I want _for_ you.”

Her coffee colored eyes scoured his face, searching for something. Her face was a little flushed with emotion. She wetted her lips with her tongue to speak, and he found himself almost completely undone by that small gesture. “What _do_ you want, then?” She asked finally, in a carefully composed tone that almost belied the shaking in her voice.

“I would like to see you happy,” he said finally, with some difficulty. Now it was his turn to look a little flushed. It took every ounce of his willpower not to run his rough thumb along her plump lower lip. How would she react if he did? He wondered.

She raised a lovely dark eyebrow at him, as if to ask,_ Is that all_? “I would like a great many things,” he admitted. _To share your bed at night. To kiss you awake each morning. To hold a little girl with your eyes and fire and spirit. _He caressed her petal soft cheek without even realizing it. “But we can start there.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes and leaned slightly into his touch. Her eyelashes were so long, they almost brushed the tops of her cheeks. There was no way she could ever pass for a mere cabin boy, even with the finest disguise. No, his Elizabeth was simply breath taking.

A wave rocked against the boat, causing them both to stumble. “Ah,” Elizabeth said sheepishly. “I was distracted. It won’t happen again.” It was nothing serious; the sloop was not built for the open sea, of course, but if she had been paying attention, she could have easily avoided that little disturbance.

“I should hope not, sailor,” James said gravely, adopting a stern expression. “The Navy expects better.”

She glanced back at him, startled, until she realized he was grinning. She stuck her tongue out at him childishly. “Quiet,” she commanded, biting back a laugh. “That’s no way to speak to your captain. Another comment like that, and I’ll have you scrubbing the decks with that horsehair wig of yours.”

He considered telling her that a commodore quite outranks a captain, actually, but he let her have this one. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he demurred with all the modesty of a society lady.

“We are just about there,” Elizabeth said excitedly. The isle she spoke of had a pebbly beach and a lush patch of greenery, but what she really wanted to show him were the cliffs. It was a positively magical place.

James followed her gaze past the main beach, squinting at the sheer face of the rock cliff to their left. Well, it wasn’t the most romantic setting…no golden sands or delicate palm fronds, but…she seemed excited. He shrugged and knelt down to pass his hand under the water, trying to determine in the opaque ocean just how shallow it was. “We should be fine here,” he told her over his shoulder. “If you could pass me the rope, I’ll tie us to the reef, and we can wade through the shallows to the shore.”

Elizabeth was uncharacteristically silent. Fool that he was, he did not react in time when he felt a small booted foot press rather forcefully into his rear and push him over into the water. Two decades of military training completely undone in a moment by a medium-sized woman dressed like a Redcoat.

He broke the water with an indignant splutter, his dark hair obscuring most of his vision. But not enough of it. Doubled over laughing on the sloop was Elizabeth, looking absolutely piratical, her shoulders shaking with mirth. “Oh, James,” she gasped out. “I’m sorry…you’re such an easy target…I couldn’t resist…”

He stood to his full height in the water, glaring up at her.

The smile withdrew from her face a little, but her eyes glinted with amusement. She was _far_ too pleased with herself. That wouldn’t do.

“You know, I don’t believe you _are_ sorry,” he reprimanded her, trying and failing to stop the grin spreading across his own face. He was soaked and altogether undignified at the moment, but her laughter was worth it. “Not one bit.”

She grinned down at him, hands planted on her hips. She seemed to be enjoying her superior height from the boat. “You’re right,” she conceded cheerfully. “I’m not. Maybe next time you shouldn’t present me with such an easy target.”

His cheeks flooded with color and before he knew what he was doing, he had clambered back up onto the boat. To his amusement, she shrank back a step or two. That was as unexpected as it was delightful.

“An easy target, you say?” He called to her, advancing towards her ominously. The squelch of seawater in his boots completely undermined the intense look in his eyes, and Elizabeth burst out laughing again as she skittered away to the other side of the sloop.

“You are _ridiculous_,” she said breathlessly, unable to stop giggling. Every time he took a _step--squelch, squelch--s_he threw her head back and cackled. 

He lunged at her, narrowly missing her, but she danced out of his reach. She was enjoying herself too much.

“Stand down, sailor,” she commanded around a laugh. “That’s an _order_—”

Swiftly, he moved towards her again. Her back was to the water, she had nowhere to go, and at any rate it was only fair that he should get her back. He wrapped his arms around her body as she squealed in protest and he pulled them both overboard.

Although the salt water stung his eyes, he was glad he opened them underwater. She writhed in his arms, her honey hair billowing eerily around her face in the green-blue light of the Caribbean water. Enchanting. Not unlike a siren, except he was the one holding her.

They broke the surface of the water together, laughing and gasping.

“I suppose I deserved that,” she confessed, wiping a strand of kelp out of her face.

James realized that he still had his hands on her waist, and another uncomfortable fact, too—that white shirt now clung to her upper body, and she was very clearly wearing nothing under it. The impropriety of the whole situation hit him and he released her immediately. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth, that was ungentlemanly of me—”

\--to which she responded by splashing him. “It certainly was, and I enjoyed every bit of it,” she agreed, without malice.

As he smiled shyly at her, he realized that this was the first time in their short marriage that he had seen her look so happy. The thought warmed him to the bones, despite the chill of the spring waters.

He shrugged in surrender. “You are a strange woman, Elizabeth.” How fondly he said her name.

Not one to be distracted from her goal for long, she swam back to the sloop and snatched the coil of rope that lay warm on the deck. “Now, help me tie this up, and we can be on shore,” she said briskly. She gave commands so naturally, one would think she had spent her life in the Navy, leading men. Somehow, he didn’t mind when she was the one giving orders. Mostly.

“How are you with knots?” He asked her, taking the proffered rope from her.

She bobbed in front of him, rising and falling ever so slightly with the movement of the ocean. He realized with a bit of mirth that while he could stand comfortably in the shallows, she was treading water to keep her chin above the surface. “I’m alright, but I’m afraid I haven’t the patience for it that you have. Maybe you can show me when we are back on the boat.”

He nodded, pleased, and ducked under the water to secure the sloop to the large reef formation beneath them. He batted away an inquisitive yellowfin as he circled the reef, securing the length of rope. He looked back and immediately wished he hadn’t. The currents caused her light shirt to billow and wave, and from his angle beneath her, he could catch a glimpse of the bottoms of her breasts.

He cursed himself for being a cad and kicked up to the surface, looking a little more flushed than the exercise seemed to call for.

“Right, then. Lead the way?” He said, a little breathlessly.

She swam past him through the shallows, her bare feet propelling her from the tops of the reefs. They were only a few feet from shore, and she emerged before him, her wet clothes clinging to her every curve like the newborn Venus walking forth from her shell. He bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood. But she gave no sign of noticing his torment as she clambered up the pebbled beach, and even turned around to make sure he was following. As if he there was anywhere else that he would rather be.


	6. Seaside Rendezvous, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Elizabeth have their first fight.

Elizabeth was rather good at hiking for a young lady, James mused, as his young wife picked her way through the rocks and uneven slopes of the seaside hill. She batted away bramble and insects as expertly as any explorer and he thought to himself with a smile that she had probably imagined herself doing exactly that on these hills for many years, finding and creating new worlds all her own. It must have been a lonely childhood for her, being the only child of the governor with few peers her own age. She paused and looked over her shoulder at him, fairly beaming. He looked up at her helplessly and felt a little as if he was seeing her for the first time, as she was meant to be seen: wind-tousled, pink-cheeked from exercise, unencumbered by tight dresses or society matrons. And she was _radiant._ “Aren’t you coming?” She called down to him.

“Yes, darl—yes,” he called back, narrowly avoiding an endearment. 

When they made it to the top of the cliff, the view was just as spectacular as she had promised. The glittering water was always a welcome sight, and the present company did not hurt either. They could see Port Royal and several other port cities from their perch. Well, _he_ was sitting at least, peeling an apple with his knife as she strode back and forth in front of their little picnic like an admiral, appraising the landscape before them.

“Why don’t you sit and have something to eat?” James attempted, if only because watching her exquisite form prance around in a Marine’s uniform was taking a toll on his restraint. And they had exercised quite a bit, although she didn’t seem tired in the least.

She looked at him over her shoulder with a wide smile before turning her full gaze back towards the water. “I used to wait for you up here, you know,” she confided, sounding a little sheepish.

James looked up from his apple, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Finally, she turned and flopped down next to him on the blanket, taking a dainty sip from the bottle of wine they had opened a few moments ago. “When you would near the end of a patrol, or after long journeys,” she explained, “I would come up here each day to see if your ship had come in. I suppose that was my way of seeing you safely home.” She turned and smiled at him with an uncharacteristic shyness.

James’ heart was in his throat. The image was so moving, he had to pause before he could speak. He had spent so much of his life looking out for her, it had never occurred to him that she might possibly do the same for him—for different reasons, perhaps, but it was touching all the same. “Was that part of your pirate playacting, too?” He teased, trying to keep the emotion from his voice. “When you were out looking for Navy patrols?”

Elizabeth made a face at him and took another drink from the wine bottle. He watched those full lips close around the neck of the bottle longer than was necessary. “Something like that,” she admitted, and by the slight color in her face, he guessed he was closer to the truth than she’d like.

“How fortunate, then, that my men and I escaped your ire. You have quite the fortress here,” he mused, gesturing to the canopy of trees above them and the crashing waters below. “Certainly you would have had the advantage of surprise and cover in the event of a sneak attack upon one of my ships. Your weapons are somewhat wanting, however,” he added conversationally, tossing a stone over the ledge into the churning ocean.

“You underestimate me,” she shot back. She sprang to her feet and dashed out of his sight.

Despite himself, James laughed and found himself turning to watch her.

She reappeared from behind a rock with a sword in hand and he choked on a bit of sandwich meat.

“_Where _did you get that?” He managed, after finally catching his breath. It was an unusually fine make, not dissimilar to the one the governor had given him for his promotion ceremony. He realized the answer a split second before she replied:

“Mr. Brown’s smithy,” she said gleefully. “Isn’t it grand? Will gave it to me for my fifteenth birthday.” The smile faded from her face a bit as James’ expression soured considerably.

Will’s name, spoken so carelessly, shattered the lighthearted mood of the day. The air seemed to noticeably cool around them.

“And how _is_ Mr. Turner?” James inquired far too casually, looking up into Elizabeth’s defiant face.

She held the sword up to the sunlight and examined both sides of the fine blade with a critical eye. It was a slender blade, with a lighter hilt than most. Likely Turner had it weighted so that she could wield it comfortably. “He is off on some grand adventure, no doubt,” she returned airily, her expression deliberately neutral.

James rose, feeling a heaviness in his feet that had nothing to do with the water-drenched boots. He appraised her carefully, like a wounded animal that is cornered. “Do you know where he is, Elizabeth?” He had to ask, for the sake of his role as commodore, if nothing else. The man was a pirate, after all. That is what James told himself, at least.

She turned away from him and cut through the air, slicing an imaginary enemy in two. Her form was not bad for someone with limited practice, really. If he wasn’t concerned about hurting her, he might have even offered to teach her himself. “Is that my _dear _husband asking, or the Crown?” She asked archly, and that certainly got his blood up. Her hips swayed distractingly as she continued her dance alone, not even deigning to watch his response.

_The blatant disrespect._

Swiftly, James stepped into her space, looping his left arm around her waist. He shifted his left leg behind her ankle, preventing a retreat, as he nimbly grabbed her sword arm. He pressed lightly on the pulse point of her wrist, just hard enough to make her drop her weapon. It clattered harmlessly to the ground beside her. It all happened so quickly she barely had time to react.

Outraged, she gasped and turned in his arms, stumbling as she caught herself on his foot. “_That _was not very sporting of you,” she snarled. Oh, she was angry. Almost _feral_. He had witnessed her temper before but it had never been turned on him like this. It was quite attractive, although he didn’t dare say that aloud. Well, he was more than a little incensed by her earlier comment, so they were evenly matched.

He lightened his grip on her wrist but didn’t release her. He didn’t quite trust her not to strike him, judging by the fierce look in her eyes. Her pulse fluttered under his fingertips. “I will give you anything you ask, Elizabeth, I will do anything for you—but I will not tolerate disrespect,” he warned her, willing his temper to cool. He could feel that his face was flushed with anger but he hoped he managed to maintain a neutral expression. He did not want to fight with her.

She set her jaw mutinously—_God, she was going to kill him_—and pulled out of his grip. He considered fighting back, but let her go, reluctantly. “Don’t you think I would protect my friends, if I knew their whereabouts?” She fired back.

“Oh, so you know where Sparrow is, too,” James said, seizing upon the plural form. He didn’t know why he was being so acidic, just that the mention of their names made his blood hum and his sword hand itch to wield a weapon.

“Perhaps I do!” She shouted, shoving on his chest, _hard_. “Are you going to interrogate me, James? Throw me back in prison?”

_Interrogate?_ That word was oddly titillating, but any arousal he felt dissipated at her reminder of prison. How could she say such a thing to a man who _loved_ her? She _knew_ how furious he was with Beckett at her being imprisoned, how scared he had been for her. “_Enough_,” he managed to get out through his clenched teeth. “No more.”

Her eyes flashed defiantly. They were standing toe to toe and he was keenly aware of how little distance there was between their mouths. God, why did she have to bait him? The heat in his voice would have sent a sailor scurrying, but not Elizabeth. She opened her mouth to fire off another rebuttal and he decided that he couldn’t risk it, couldn’t hear whatever she had to say next.

Roughly, he grabbed her and pulled her to him—there wasn’t much space between them anyway—and kissed her hard, punishing in the intensity of his passion.

Startled, she stiffened in his arms and he was about to let her go, apologize immediately, and send her to her father’s house for several days, but she made their situation infinitely worse—instead of pushing him away in anger, she grabbed on the queue of his hair and kissed him back with a similar lack of gentleness.

He could not have been more shocked than if she had struck him.

He was kissing Elizabeth Swann—and it wasn’t the innocent brush of lips they had shared on their wedding day. It was not how he had pictured their first real kiss, either—in his mind, that had been sweet, tender, and caressing. This was something else entirely.

Her hand fisted in his hair was driving him a little mad. She instinctively knew how to torment him, it seemed. He was sure his grip on her narrow hips was not soft, either.

His tongue touched hers briefly and she moaned a little. The sound nearly undid him. One of his hands slid up her back, cradling the back of her head. Her posture loosened and she relaxed against his chest, exploring his mouth with her tongue.

She was quite the talented kisser for a recently married woman, he mused, and he wondered how many young men in Port Royal had had the pleasure of kissing her. His grip tightened on her possessively until it was almost bruising and she yelped in protest.

He released her and pulled back, panting a little.

She was a vision.

Her lips were still slightly parted, swollen from their kiss. Her Marine jacket had fallen off her shoulders when she grabbed him and he could enjoy the unobstructed view of the fine column of her neck and shoulders. Her pupils were wide, unblinking, and she looked more than a little off balance.

Well, good. He was sure that he looked a little shell-shocked.

“Where was _that _when you were courting me?” She managed finally, which was a blessing, because he was struggling to think of something to say.

“I rather think I would not have been allowed to court you if I had handled you so,” James admitted, feeling a little remorseful. “I did not mean to be so rough with you, Elizabeth.”

She smoothed the rumpled mess of her hair into a ponytail, looking a little like a disheveled lioness as she tossed her head. She sighed and ran a hand along his chest, resting over his racing heart. “You were very angry with me. I suppose I shouldn’t have said that about prison.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” he agreed, catching her wandering hand and pressing a kiss to her palm. “I didn’t care for your comment about the Crown, either.”

“Well, you can only get an apology for one of those,” she retorted, lifting her chin.

He sighed, exasperated. “They _are_ pirates, you know,” he reminded her, but his tone was much gentler than before. "My job is to keep Port Royal and the Caribbean safe. I can’t forget that, though I would make it easier for you if I could.” Duty and honor, honor and duty. His brothers had often teased him for how serious he was, even as a young boy. He couldn’t help it. He was a man of convictions.

“Will is long gone, he’s never coming back, and you don’t have to worry about him anymore. So please, James,” she whispered over their joined hands, “don’t go looking for him.” She looked at him beseechingly.

He gazed back into her warm eyes and saw tears pricking at the corner of them. Tenderly, he swiped one away. “I am not in a position to make such promises,” he confided honestly, and to his dismay there was regret in his voice. _Sentimental fool_, he chided himself, but he truly hated knowing that his words pained her. “I am not in the Navy’s good graces myself, as you’ll recall. But Mr. Turner is resourceful. If he stays out of English areas of influence, there is little I or any other English citizen can do to apprehend him.”

Elizabeth nodded, thinking over his words. Her lips trembled and his heart ached, not just for her pain, but for his own as well.

“Do you love him still?” He asked wistfully, before he could stop himself.

Elizabeth bit her lip and did not meet his gaze. “He was my first love, James. I thought…I thought the world began and ended with him.” She took a shaky breath. “But I made a vow to you, James. I do not take such commitments lightly. Will _is_ gone--you have my word on that--and even if he wasn’t…” Her voice trailed off.

It was more than James could have hoped for, infinitely more. He knew he was being more than a little selfish when that statement clearly cost her emotionally, but in that moment he respected and admired the woman she had become. He caressed her cheek with his thumb and she closed her eyes as a tear slid down her face. “You already know my feelings, Elizabeth. I shan’t hold it over your head and I won’t bring it up again. You are not beholden to me in any way. If all we have is friendship, I shall be grateful for it.” He meant it, too. But he could long for other things, as well. And now that he knew what it was like to really, truly kiss her…he almost regretted his rash action because now he was greedy for so much more.

“Friends…” Elizabeth murmured. “Is that what we are?” He wondered if she was a mind reader, because she raised herself on the balls of her feet and pressed her lips against his.

This kiss was soft, gentle, yet intoxicating. Her warm mouth moved against his hesitantly and he could taste the salt in her kiss.

His arms gathered her close again as he deepened the kiss, and it felt…right. There was no anger in this embrace, just affection. Her hot little hands seemed to melt through his shirt which had only just begun to dry. He rather enjoyed the way she clung to him.

The wind blew cold at the top of the little isle and James realized with regret that they would need to return to the manor soon. The clouds overhead promised rain. Reluctantly, he pulled away from her, tracing the plump swell of her lower lip with his thumb.

“Friends,” he agreed, coloring a little at the understatement. Surely friends didn’t kiss like that. “Or whatever you would like, Elizabeth.” He knelt before her and retrieved her sword, presenting the pommel to her. She accepted it, but her eyes never left his.

He rose to his feet again and cast a look out at the sky. In the distance, he could see a curtain of rain atop the water and he could feel the moisture in the air. “We had better get going.”

A single drop of rain landed on the blade of her sword and she sighed. She looked around forlornly at her island fortress. No doubt she was thinking gloomily of the domestic scene that awaited her at Port Royal. “We didn’t even get to finish the picnic.”

“Yes, Mrs. Reynolds will be quite irritated with me for not properly seeing to your health,” James joked. Upon seeing her crestfallen expression, he added, “Thank you for sharing this place with me, Elizabeth. I hope we visit it again.”

The journey back to Port Royal was not as pleasant as their morning trip. By the time they had tied the sloop up, it was pouring. James did not want to run back to the manor—he was a commodore, for goodness’ sake—but Elizabeth did not feel the same. She laughed and ran ahead of him, her thoroughly soaked shoes kicking up water with each step. The rain formed a silvery curtain above her golden head and she looked rather fae-like.

They were both shivering with cold when they made it back to the manor. The butler took their outer things away to dry them and sure enough, Mrs. Reynolds fussed at him for all the food that they brought back. She was so preoccupied with this travesty that she completely missed the fact that the mistress of the house had left that day with only food and wine and returned with a sword. 

James attempted to blame the predicament on the weather as Aoife offered to draw a hot bath for Elizabeth, who eagerly accepted.

He then headed to the guest quarters upstairs for a bath as well but something made him pause just outside of their shared room. Elizabeth and Aoife were talking in conspiratorial tones, and from the sounds of moving water, it seemed as if Elizabeth had just stepped into her bath. His face grew hot as he imagined her slender body covered in soap suds and not much else. He suddenly wished he could switch places with Aoife.

_Couldn’t he_? The devil on his shoulder whispered, and he almost didn’t hear their conversation.

“Did you have a nice time?” That was Aoife.

“Yes…we did. Have a nice time.” Elizabeth’s voice was oddly stilted. She was probably just tired from their day.

“The commodore hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you since you came in together,” Aoife pointed out, and he could swear heard a smirk in her voice, if such a thing were possible. His eyebrows rose disapprovingly. He was not aware that his staff were so forward with their opinions on his marriage.

“He kissed me, Aoife,” Elizabeth said suddenly, and now James was definitely blushing. Well, she didn’t have many female friends, he supposed he couldn’t begrudge her for confiding in Aoife, but dammit if it wasn’t mortifying.

Aoife made a delighted sound as she poured more water into the bath. “_Finally_,” the girl crowed. “Did you like it?”

James’ frown deepened at the impropriety of her question until Elizabeth replied, a little embarrassed, “I did, yes. He is…very passionate.”

Aoife must have made a face because there was a splashing sound and then Aoife made a sound of protest. “Alright then, miss, see if your husband will get you fresh hot water,” Aoife teased, “as I am clearly not suitable as your maid.” Elizabeth laughed and it sounded heavenly to his ears.

The women were silent for a moment and James prepared to leave. He had been lurking long enough. “We’re very happy for you, you know,” Aoife confided in a softer voice, and James almost missed it. “Master James is very lonely. He has always been good to us and now that you’re here with him…well. I don’t think I have ever seen him this content before.”

James stifled a groan. Was he so obvious that even his staff had noticed him making eyes at his wife? How mortifying. He felt quite hot under the collar of his shirt and stepped away discreetly to draw himself a bath.

* * *

It turns out a bath was just what he needed. The hot water soothed his sore muscles and he sank under the water up to his chin, his dark hair waving around his face.

How much had changed between them in a day, he reflected.

Elizabeth had been a constant in James’ life for the better part of the last decade. Ever since he had seen her and her father safely to Port Royal all those years ago, she had been a welcome addition in his life, first as a young girl who inspired a sort of brotherly affection and protectiveness in him, and then…and then, almost overnight it seemed, she had become a stunning, mischievous young woman. Gone was the coltish girl with freckles sprayed across her nose who liked to borrow his telescopes and astrolabes—in her place was a singularly beautiful woman with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue. Certainly, she had beaux in Port Royal even before Turner; even if she hadn’t been beautiful, her fortune and her position in society made her quite popular among the island’s single young men. And yet, she never seemed to be deeply interested in any of them. She only ever had eyes for Turner.

He was a conventionally attractive man, James would grant him that. With those dark Spanish eyes and sculpted arms, he too caught the eyes of many young ladies around town. And just as Elizabeth had been singularly set on him, so he was similarly devoted to her.

Until he wasn’t. Until he left without her.

James was still struggling to piece together what had happened during his short time away at Port St. Thomas, when Elizabeth and Will had been arrested. He knew that they had been arrested on charges of aiding pirates—actually, full-fledged piracy in Turner’s case—and that they had been sprung from jail. That was no small miracle in itself; James remembered the days when the fort jail was just a refurbished stable with guards posted at every door. To break out of that stone fortress _now_ was quite a feat. He suspected Sparrow’s hand, but his not-so-subtle attempts to coax an answer out of Elizabeth had been met with—unsurprisingly—stony resistance. When he interviewed the guards that had been posted to the jail that night, they were only able to tell him that some foreigners had intervened. It irked James but he could not prove that it was Sparrow’s doing. Still, he impatiently awaited every newspaper that arrived from the mainland and the East India Trading Company.

The most important thing was that Elizabeth was safe, of course, and that she hadn’t been hurt too badly during her stay. She was bruised, exhausted, and—although she would not admit it—frightened during her involuntary stay. His greatest fear was that she had been raped or otherwise tortured, but perhaps Beckett did have some moral lines he was unwilling to cross—or perhaps he knew that James would have cut his throat out in the town square, and military ranks be damned. He was furious that he hadn’t been there to prevent this—and now his being called away from Port Royal at the time seemed all too convenient.

He had been thinking about what to do with Beckett in the long-term. He was worried that this tense stand-off would not last, that something would have to give. He wanted to discuss the matter with Gillette and Groves, his closest friends, but he wasn’t sure if it was safe. They were all Navy men, after all; they did report to Beckett, and he to the Crown. It seemed unfair to endanger them. He still was not sure what Beckett’s game was, besides his obvious power lust. That much was apparent to anyone. But what was the end goal? If it was wealth to be gained, Beckett could find that in India and China, with their abundant supplies of silks, jade, tea, and spices. Why swelter in the hot, dangerous Caribbean if there were more lucrative options available? James did not know but he would find out. Especially if Elizabeth was in danger from whatever Beckett was planning.

He thought about her lips on his and sighed. There was a growing hardness between his legs and he reckoned that his body had had quite enough of Elizabeth Swann for one day.

No one used the guest bath and his butler would not disturb him. His hand snaked between his thighs, stroking his growing erection. He imagined bending her over their bed in that damnable uniform, neatly whisking her trousers down around her ankles. He wanted so badly to touch her, to taste her. He would hold her down to the bed with a hand at the base of her spine, teasing her with his other hand until she was nearly sobbing, and then he would thrust into her until she came around his cock. His hand moved more quickly up and down his shaft as he imagined the sounds she would make. Would she be quiet in bed, or loud? He thought he knew the answer but he wanted to find out. He wanted to know _everything_ about what she liked in bed.

He spent quickly with a stifled groan and collapsed against the back of the bathtub, sighing with satisfaction. He hadn’t done that in awhile and it made him feel rather sleepy. He let the water drain before cleaning himself with some fresh water. Perhaps the knowledge that Elizabeth was lying next to him in bed would not keep him up this night.

In any event, they were both exhausted that night. James fell asleep at once, but he thought he felt her hand brushing his hair out of his eyes before she settled down for the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your kudos and comments. It means so, so much to me. I see the notification on my phone and my heart races like a schoolgirl's :D 
> 
> So originally, I had a very different plan for this chapter. They weren't even going to kiss. I had rewritten something else entirely--more get-to-know-each other fluff and a little angst. But then they both lost their tempers, so...there is only so much I can do, I'm afraid. They had to angrily kiss each other and there is absolutely nothing I could do about that.
> 
> Some of you have mentioned that Elizabeth isn't sulky, that she isn't clinging to the thought of Will--I'm really glad y'all feel this way. My only concern is that I am perhaps not portraying her in a realistic way--I don't think she is completely over Will, but as a few of y'all have noted, I don't think she is the type to be down for long. She loved--loves?--him, of course, but I do think our Elizabeth is practical. She wanted to marry Will but she isn't stupid--optimistic, maybe, but I think she knew all along that it was a very real possibility that she would be forced to marry against her will. I think she is trying to reckon with that now, and it is a little easier that her marriage is to a friend. A "friend" who happens to be tall, handsome, noble-hearted, and slightly neurotic. A real winner, in my opinion.
> 
> Ahem...please note the rating change. I am not sure what the line is between 'Mature' and 'Explicit'.


	7. Not Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth firmly, absolutely, does not harbor any sentimental feelings towards her husband, but that doesn't mean they can't make out a bit.

Most nights, Elizabeth dreamed of Will—of kissing him, holding him, sometimes just sitting on a bale of hay in the smithy’s forge, watching him work. It wasn’t all stolen kisses and sultry embraces. Nevertheless, she always woke guilty, and couldn’t meet James’ eyes for a while.

This time, it was not Will she dreamed of.

It was _James_’ strong arms around her, _James_’ calloused hands tangling in her hair, _James_’ firm lips kissing her with reckless abandon, his hand reaching down to cup her bottom and pull her more tightly against him. She awoke with a start and immediately glanced over to James’ side of the bed to see if her husband had noticed her erratic state.

He slept peacefully enough, although she wondered if he was ever truly at rest. He almost always woke before her and could be roused from even the deepest sleep at a moment’s notice. At the moment, he looked rather like one of those statues she had seen in some well-to-do Londoner’s private gallery as a little girl; the hard planes of his face softened just a little in sleep, the patrician line of his nose reminded her of a Roman emperor. She stared at him boldly, her eyes tracing the curve of his lips. It had been a week since they had kissed and for someone who had enjoyed her fair share of kisses, Elizabeth was embarrassingly distracted by such a simple gesture. He had not attempted to do so again, and something in his expression stopped her from trying.

Really, what was a little kissing between a husband and wife? Perhaps he just needed a little encouraging.

Elizabeth wasn’t sure what she wanted from their marriage, but she did enjoy kissing him. She pursed her lips thoughtfully, thinking over her options. Would it be cruel to kiss him? Would he think she returned his feelings? That did seem unfair, but selfishly, she wanted it all the same.

It seemed so _strange_ to think that he loved her, even though he had admitted it.

Men had told her that they loved her before—Will, a midshipman from the _ Dauntless’ _ crossing to Jamaica, even an older gentleman who had monopolized so many of her dances at her début.

_ I have never loved a woman as I have loved you._

How certainly he said those words to her, as if nothing could be more obvious. Well, it had not been obvious to _her_. For goodness’ sake, his proposal had been so _dry_, and she was being rather generous in her evaluation. Who knew that stuffy, serious, honor-loving James Norrington could have such a tender heart beneath that stoic exterior?

The man was a puzzle, to be sure. But then…perhaps she had seen flickers of his ardor, however fleeting. The way his eyes followed her wherever she went; his steady hands at her waist when they rode Adao together; the color in his cheeks when she teased him (she did love to tease him). The more she thought about it, the more she wondered if he hadn’t been telling her all along, in his own muddled, clumsy way.

The thought made her heart beat a little faster. If that was true…how long had he felt this way? And when had he planned on telling her?

James Norrington had, until fairly recently, viewed her with the indulgence of a knowing elder brother—at least, she thought he had. He humored her rapid-fire questions about life at sea and taught her some maths and navigation and more than once he had stepped in for a dance with her when she was trying to avoid one of the lecherous old men at a ball. But none of that spoke of romance to her. Romance is what she had with Will: stolen kisses in an alleyway; knowing looks exchanged right under her father’s nose; secret endearments written in coded notes.

Yet James was here and Will was not.

She had wondered, when she was younger, what it would be like to be James’ wife. Before she knew all of the dismal duties expected of a wife, she had imagined it to be quite enjoyable. They’d share many kisses, of course; he would surprise her with flowers (she wasn’t sure what to do with flowers, but she knew that ladies were supposed to like them); and he would spoil her with the latest scientific books from the Royal Society. Children appeared only occasionally in these girlish daydreams, more as an afterthought than anything else. Mostly she had relished the idea of being the sole source of his attention. But now, that thought terrified her. Those beautiful eyes, green as the English countryside in the summer, had the power to freeze her in place, which she did not much appreciate.

Unfortunately for Elizabeth, James chose that moment to awake, just as she was scrutinizing him with a vaguely suspicious look on her face.

He blinked owlishly in the sunlight that slipped in through the curtains of their bedroom. “Something wrong?” He asked groggily as he started to rise. Her expression must have concerned him and she schooled her face into a more neutral appearance.

“No, no, stay abed awhile longer,” she said, surprising them both when she placed a hand on his chest and pressed him gently back into the bed.

A mistake, she realized immediately.

His skin, warmed from the blankets of their cozy bed, was almost hot to the touch. Perhaps she had admired his upper torso once or twice before—perhaps more than that—but she had never really _felt_ it, and now she felt his strong muscles flex under her touch as he obediently laid back down.

She swallowed thickly. _What is this man doing to me?_ She thought, aghast.

But he just looked up at her steadily, the sleepiness retreating from his sharp gaze. “Then you stay, too.” His voice was just a little rough and she smiled in spite of herself.

“As my husband commands,” she teased, and flopped down next to him, grateful for the excuse to be lazy for a bit longer. She most definitely took longer than James to get out of bed in the mornings.

He frowned, displeased, and she laughed merrily. “Only playing,” she said with a giddy grin. It was so easy to needle him, she found herself unable to resist—not that she really tried in the first place. “I would never listen to you.”

James huffed and rolled away from her, leaving her to admire the broad outline of his shoulders. Was he _sulking_? “I am quite aware,” he said, and she worried she had genuinely upset him.

She didn’t have a rebuttal because her eyes were drawn to the scars on his back. She sucked in a breath and gingerly ran a finger across his left shoulder blade, where a weapon had left an ugly mark. He stiffened under her touch and she removed her hand immediately. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“The Navy has left quite a mark on me,” he said with a sigh, but he did not seem to be angry with her.

“That wasn’t from battle?” Elizabeth asked, startled. 

“No.” He rolled over to face her again and his gaze was indecipherable. “An overzealous bosun was under the impression that I was stealing from our limited food stores. We had been at sea for four months and everyone was a little on edge.”

“I can’t imagine you stealing anything,” she admitted.

“I didn’t.” Absently, he reached out and wrapped an errant curl around his finger, almost without realizing it.

Elizabeth scooted a little closer, sensing there was a story. “If you didn’t steal, yet you were punished for it, I would like to have a word with your captain.” She meant it, too.

James smiled fondly. “I told the bosun I did,” he confessed. “One of the cabin boys had done it, actually. Tiny little blighter, only nine or ten years old. We picked him up in Devonport. Didn’t have any family and he was so thin, a strong wind could’ve blown him away. So.”

Elizabeth waited for him to finish, but he left it there, looking out past her shoulders to the little armoire where she stored her clothing. Elizabeth felt a lump in her throat. “How old were you?” She whispered.

“Fourteen.” When his gaze returned to her face and he saw her anguished expression, he said candidly, “It wasn’t so bad, Elizabeth. Midshipmen aren’t usually flogged*, so the bosun went easy on me. Besides…he might’ve killed that boy.”

Elizabeth closed the distance between them and buried her face in his chest. Surprised, he nevertheless slipped an arm around her, cradling the back of her head. “You are a good man,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat pick up just a little. _Too good for me_, she thought but didn’t say.

As if he could hear her thoughts, his arms tightened around her. His chin came to rest on the top of her head, tucking her neatly against him. “Not always,” he said gravely. “But I try to be.”

Irritated, she pulled back and glared at him. “You know, you could stand to give yourself a little more credit,” she admonished, and he blinked, before his expression became distinctly mulish.

“There is a lot you don’t know about me,” he warned her lightly, running his hands through her hair. “I have done many things I am not proud of.”

“As have I,” Elizabeth said fiercely. She didn’t know why his words made her feel so defensive, only that she could not bear the look on his face. “We all have, James. Do you know how much I regret asking you to go to the Isla de Muerta, knowing innocent men would perish**? I as good as killed those Marines with my bare hands.” It was the first time she had ever said it aloud, and the words stuck in her throat as solidly as a rock. She tried to turn her face away so he wouldn’t see the emotion there, but it was quite difficult, nestled against him as she was.

His hand withdrew from her hair and moved to her jaw, forcing her to look at him. “Those men died because of _my_ orders,” he said, an indecipherable expression on his face. “I did not have to listen to your request, but I did. Never blame yourself for my mistakes, Elizabeth.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to look at him. “You would not have given the order if I had not asked you to,” she whispered. She meant it, too. The events of last year haunted her, forced her to reckon with her romantic ideals of high-sea adventure and pirating.

“Perhaps if I had never asked you to marry me, none of that would have happened at all,” he mused, and _ that _ got her attention.

_Difficult, difficult man._

She wrestled out of his arms and rolled on top of him to prevent his escape, a fierce look in her eyes. “I am tiring of this game, James,” she warned him, enjoying the astonishment on his face. “Can we agree that we have both done things we are not proud of, and enjoy this blissfully sleepy morning?”

One of his hands snaked up her back, tracing the lightest pattern along her spine. She shivered in spite of herself. He smirked a little. “When you say _enjoy_…what did you have in mind?” He asked, looking up at her like…well. She wasn’t quite sure what, but she felt hot all over and considered that perhaps this had not been the best move, on her part.

But she was of the mind that it was _she_ who should be teasing _him_, and not the other way around. So, emboldened by this line of thought, she leaned over him, surrounding his handsome face with a curtain of tangled waves. She bumped against his nose with hers, hovering above his lips. “I wouldn’t say no to more of that kissing,” she breathed against him, hoping that it would drive him crazy.

It worked a little _too_ well.

James hands drifted down to her hips and he neatly flipped her on the bed so that he straddled her. He kept a reasonable distance from her, supporting himself on his elbows so that his weight didn’t rest on her, but it left her a little breathless all the same. “Indeed?” He murmured, pressing a kiss to her neck.

_Damn him._

“Well, now I am not so certain,” she said coquettishly, and if anything, his smirk grew wider. Her eyes darted to the side and she noticed the muscles in his biceps standing out just a little as he carried his own weight above her.

He kissed along her jawline and she closed her eyes, thinking desperately how she could turn this to her advantage. “Is there anything I can do to convince you?” He asked in a honey-sweet voice, kissing her closed eyes quite tenderly.

Groaning, she grabbed his face and pulled him down to her, kissing him with a need she was not altogether familiar with. Eagerly, he kissed her back, his tongue hot in her mouth and _incredibly_ distracting. Now he rested a little more on her and she found herself grateful that he insisted on wearing trousers to bed, because the heat radiating from his snug breeches, so close to her own legs, was driving her a little wild.

And yet, it was not _quite_ enough.

Boldly, she lifted her leg so that her ankle hooked behind his leg, pulling him closer. The contact made her whimper into his mouth a little, but feeling his hand under her knee made her gasp.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He murmured against her lips, pulling back just a fraction.

“I…” Elizabeth scrambled to assemble a coherent sentence. “I was kissing you.”

Gently, he straightened her leg and placed it next to her right one, a glint in his eyes. “Well, you’re going to give me ideas, kissing me like that,” he said in a low voice that made her stomach churn.

“What kinds of ideas?” She asked breathlessly, uncertain where this was going but suddenly quite curious to find out. He kissed her far too chastely and rolled away from her, much to her disappointment.

“I was not finished,” she informed him crossly, but he only smiled.

“I think it is time we get some breakfast,” he replied, extending his hand to help her out of bed. Reluctantly, she accepted it, and he pulled her into his arms, giving her another kiss that left her a little dizzy. “Alright, _now_ it is time to get breakfast,” he amended, his eyes dancing with mischief.

_Difficult man._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My high school English teacher: what if you had a plot?
> 
> Me, a hopeless Norribeth ho: 
> 
> * It's true. Midshipmen weren't supposed to be flogged--they were mostly sons from noble families training to be officers. I got this from _ To Rule the Waves: How the British Navy Shaped the Modern World _ by Arthur Herman. I can assure you, any overlap in subject matter is PURELY coincidental. 
> 
> ** According to the Pirates Wiki, none of Norrington's men died during the Isla de Muerta debacle. Now, nothing against our boys in blue (or scarlet, as the case may be) but that seems unlikely. I don't remember watching any of them die onscreen, but then it has been awhile. And anyway I am unable to keep from writing angst into what are supposed to be harmless scenes. AND I wanted to show that Elizabeth has matured from when we first met her in PotC.


	8. Drinks at Charlottenburg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble comes to Jamaica and James is all too eager to face it.

Theo Groves called it “the war room”. It was a somber, serious place, all dark oak paneled walls and disapproving paintings of previous generations of Navy officers and Admiralty lords. It was in the deepest part of the fort, just above the holding cells, in fact—sometimes they could hear the prisoners groaning or banging about below during their meetings.

And yet, it was in this foreboding place that James came alive; really, truly alive.

When his childhood friend and lieutenant had told him that pirates had been spotted only a few nautical miles from Jamaica, he felt his blood hum with excitement. It had been too long since he had had a good fight and he realized he was positively _aching_ for one.

James stood at the head of the impressive mahogany table, inspecting the navigation charts of the Caribbean with a calmness that belied the excitement stirring within him. Gillette stood to his right, Groves to his left, and a few other officers were clustered around the rest of the table.

James knew that there was a Spanish pirate nest on the eastern flank of Hispaniola*, but despite a rare concerted effort with local authorities to run them out, the plucky criminals remained entrenched on the island. Only now they had become cocky—they had raided a sugar plantation on the eastern reaches of Jamaica in the night and had made off with the plantation owner’s entire year of product. The man was understandably irate and once word spread to England, there would be much posturing and speech-making about the sorry state of one of England’s own colonies!

James was determined to send a very different message, however.

One that promised a swift, brutal end to piracy.

He had already stationed a first-rate ship-of-the-line to Savanna-la-Mar, where the incident had taken place. No pirates there at the moment, of course, but the HMS _Queen Anne _would deter others for the time being. She was not the _Dauntless_, it was true, but with a hundred guns and some of the Caribbean’s finest sailors, she could make a seasoned buccaneer blanch.

While Spain and England were not at war—for the time being, anyway—the Royal Navy could not let this slide. Spanish or not, pirates were not welcome in these waters and that was a message James meant to enforce at any cost. And this had given James the opening he was looking for, a chance to prove himself again.

He meant to raid the nest on Hispaniola, of course.

His men were enthused. The Royal Navy had endeavored to scour the surrounding waters of Port Royal for crime and they had largely succeeded—but that also meant more tedious office work as of late for men who were used to swabbing the inside of cannons under fire and boarding ships in the middle of storms. 

A little diversion was more than welcome.

It had all happened so quickly. James had been performing a routine inspection of the _Dauntless_ when Groves found him on the quarterdeck, red-faced from chasing his superior across the docks.

Quickly spoken words: _Pirate raid, Hispaniola, furious sugar merchants, frightened citizens_.

In spite of himself, and in spite of the bad news, James smiled wolfishly.

He was preparing to leave at dawn with the _Dauntless _and two smaller ships to flank her, the _Nancy Dawson _and the _Georgianna, _both battle-tested second-rate ships. The men were in agreement; they would sail for Hispaniola early in the morning and begin their bombardment of the eastern part of the island before sunrise. The Marines would lie in wait in boats on the water until the gunners had cleared the first pirate defenses, and then they would charge the beach.

Unfortunately, they had not consulted Admiral Lord Beckett.

He slipped into the war room almost without notice and James, absorbed in his charts, did not notice him until the smaller man queried, “Planning a raid, are we, Norrington?”

James stiffened and forced his expression to remain neutral as he stared levelly at Beckett. Why, the man was even smaller than Elizabeth. It would have been impossible to take him seriously if he had not known how much power the man wielded. “Not a raid, sir,” he corrected smoothly. “A counterstrike. There is a pirate nest on Hispaniola that we have been monitoring for months and they have given us an opportunity to hit back. I suggest—”

“Are we to risk the peace with Spain?” Beckett countered.

“Respectfully, my lord, they are pirates. Spain would persecute English raiders in a heartbeat. Giving quarter to criminals was not part of any truce that I am aware of.” He tried not to punctuate every single word with the disdain that seethed within him, but it was difficult. He thought he heard Theo titter a little at that last remark. His irritation must be plain on his face.

“And if they are privateers? Did that occur to you, Norrington?” Beckett’s rain-colored eyes seemed to look right through him, as though he were a dirty piece of glass obstructing his view of the larger picture.

James gritted his teeth. If possible, he detested privateers even more than pirates. “There are precious few privateers left in these waters, and those that do still exist are acting illegally—a Letter of Marque is only applicable during wartime**.”

The other men looked nervously between the two gentlemen. The sparks that flew between them were palpable, even as both of them spoke in steady, even-mannered voices.

Beckett hummed thoughtfully, drumming his fingers across the hand-drawn waters of the map of the Gulf of Mexico. “Awfully keen to enforce justice now, is that right?” He intoned casually. “What a nice change of pace.”

James felt all the blood rush to his face. He drew himself up to his fullest height and looked down his long nose at Beckett with all of the contempt that he could muster. “If you are referring to my lapse in judgement last spring, I can assure you, I am aware of my shortsightedness and I am not eager to repeat the incident.”

Beckett only smirked. “I should think not. But just to be safe, I will command the _Dauntless_. You and your men may follow in one of the barques.”

James inhaled sharply and cursed himself instantly—Beckett had gotten the reaction he wanted. His opponent smiled coyly, as confident as a cat that got into the cream.

James’ hands trembled with anger. Was there a way he could ignore a direct order from a superior? He didn’t see one at the moment. But he did not become a commodore at such a young age only to give in to a moment of temper now. He steeled his features into a calm mask, affecting disinterest. Of course Beckett wanted the _Dauntless_—everyone in Port Royal and beyond knew she was James’ darling. And Beckett loved nothing more than rubbing his power in others’ faces. “Very good,” he said neutrally. “So you agree with the plan of attack, then?” He inquired offhandedly.

Despite Beckett’s pedantic insistence on distinguishing between pirates and privateers, James knew the other man was also looking for a fight; he just wanted to snub James in front of his men first.

“I do,” Beckett said cordially, gingerly rolling up the map before him and tucking it under his arm. “I am sure that, with proper leadership, the mission will be a success.”

It was meant to nettle James, but his upper lip quivered with amusement. No one could consider Beckett a leader in the real sense of the word—a tyrant, certainly, but not a proper Navy officer who could inspire courage in the hearts of his men. And despite the lashing his pride had taken just now, James knew without a doubt that most of the men in the room would have agreed with him. “Undoubtedly, sir,” he agreed wryly, earning a narrowed glare from Beckett.

“Well, then. Gilbert, with me. I want to inspect the rebuilding of the north wall of the fort.” Imperiously, Beckett gestured at _Gillette_, who managed to convey a very deadpan expression to James without drawing notice. “I will see all of you tomorrow at four.” He turned on his heel and Gillette trotted after him, imitating the dour expression on his superior’s face.

One of the other men, the quartermaster, clapped James on the shoulder as he moved to go. “I don’t know how you deal with that odious little man,” he confided. He was a West Country man, rough around the edges and sharp as a tack, and had served with James faithfully for several years now. “I’ll just be glad to be rid of these scoundrels. And not only the ones in Hispaniola.”

James gave him a wan smile. “Careful, Johnson. Your tone smacks of mutiny.” But his own tone was teasing.

Johnson scoffed. “I’ll have to be clearer in the future, then,” he muttered. “I hate that little bastard.”

James and Theo both laughed and the three men headed to the _Charlottenburg _for a drink or two. James would not have hard liquor before a mission, but he could not say no to the wonderfully rich German beers that the Hessian owner served.

Theo, on the other hand, was quite fond of rum and drank enough for the three of them. Not that he needed alcohol to encourage his wagging tongue, James reflected.

“How is married life treating you, Jamie?” He quipped as they crammed around a small table in a dimly lit corner. “I feel as if we barely see you anymore. You always make such a mad dash from the fort these days. You used to be the last to leave.” His amber eyes glinted with mischief.

“He’s a kept man now, Theo, don’t be pestering him,” Johnson guffawed, laughing harder when the tips of James’ ears turned noticeably red.

“Hardly a kept man,” James grumbled. “Everything is fine, Theo. Thank you for asking.” He cut himself off abruptly and took a long drink. These men were his dear friends and colleagues, but talking about married life was not something he was terribly keen on.

“Just fine?” Theo needled. “How is the lovely Mrs. Norrington? Got any little Jamies on the way yet?”

James’ eyes flashed and Theo’s smile shrank just a little. “I’ll kindly ask you not to speak about my wife in that way,” he warned him, and his old friend raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Is it so wrong that I should want a namesake?” Theo asked woefully, throwing a companionable arm across Johnson’s shoulders. “I may be a bachelor but I should like to show a lad how to ride a horse and shoot a gun!” He turned to Johnson, another bachelor, for support. Johnson just rolled his eyes and shoved him away.

“If I am so blessed with a son, you can rest assured that he will be taught those skills by someone who is capable,” James quipped, smirking at Theo’s outraged expression. “Do you think I want my boy being dragged by his mount all up and down the South Downs because he did not step fully out of the stirrups?”

Theo pounded his fist on the table, his ruddy cheeks made redder with embarrassment and rum. “That happened _once _and you know full well your brother spooked the horse before I could dismount! It wasn’t my fault! The beast just took off and wouldn’t stop!”

James just smiled and took a triumphant sip of his beer.

It was good to be among friends. He spent too much of his life working and he realized with a pang that he had rather neglected his brothers-in-arms--but it was awfully difficult to agree to a night out when he had Elizabeth waiting at home for him.

And she did wait for him most of the time.

Nothing warmed his heart quite as much as seeing a candle in the window of the study when he returned home after a long day at the fort. He had told her repeatedly that she needn’t wait up for him—some days he came home around midnight; other evenings he was able to join her for dinner. Sometimes she took his advice to head to bed and sometimes she didn’t. Last week, he had come across her in the study, curled against the cushion of the armchair with a discarded book at her feet. The sight was so dear, his heart stopped for a moment. She looked as serene as a Raphaelite Madonna with her eyes fluttering restlessly behind her eyelids, trying and failing to stay awake. Wordlessly, he had scooped her up and carried her to bed, wondering for the umpteenth time how he was supposed to keep a respectful distance from her when he was so smitten.

And he did worry that his advances would push her away. But he was drawn to her as a plant is to sunlight, unable to keep himself from turning in her direction. He did not want to move too quickly but he hungered for her in a way that he had never felt for a woman before. Sharing a bed with her was the sweetest kind of torture he had ever known.

A few days ago, when she had straddled him in bed, he thought for certain his heart was going to burst from his chest. He had turned her over to put a stop to her mischief; that was the _only_ reason. It had nothing to do with the fact that he loved looking down into her startled golden-brown eyes, her lips tilted up with a pleasantly surprised smile. One kiss, that was it. Alright, _two _kisses. And then he really had to leave before he found himself with his head between her thighs.

What did she want from him? Some days he thought she desired him, too, but then he would catch her unawares with such a forlorn, lost look in her eyes, and he felt ashamed of himself for hoping. She was still so young, so full of adventure. He only hoped she did not resent him for binding her to society’s rules. His heart could not bear that thought.

When he returned home from the tavern that evening, she was already asleep. In typical Elizabethan fashion, she had commandeered most of the bed. It was a rather remarkable feat for such a slender woman, but James was used to sleeping in far worse conditions.

Careful not to disturb her, he slipped out of his clothes and into bed beside her, enjoying the clean scent of her hair and the freshly washed sheets. He longed to slip his arms around her waist and pull her flush against his body but he didn’t dare. Not when she was asleep and could not push him away, if she wanted. He would not take advantage of her even if he wanted nothing more than to bury his face in those golden tresses.

No, married life was not what he had thought it might be as a foolish young boy, but it was, as he told Theo, just fine. He was, he realized with a start, actually very happy. Their marriage was an unconventional one. She had jilted him and then proposed to him; she loved to tease him; and at very rare moments when he caught her candidly curious gaze, he thought that maybe she might come to love him, as well.

He hoped that tomorrow would go well. He did not typically fear death or injury in battle. He accepted it as a part of the lifestyle he had chosen. But now, with a lightly snoring Elizabeth just a few inches from him, he was more determined than ever to emerge from battle unscathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The island of Hispaniola is now divided between Haiti (formerly French) and the Dominican Republic (formerly Spanish). I believe the Spanish had to give up the western part of the island to the French somewhere towards the end of the 17th century.
> 
> **A Letter of Marque was a formal letter given from one country's government to, ahem, self-employed adventurers granting permission to take prizes from enemy nations at sea. Although enlisted Royal Navy men were known to do it too--it was a good way to make money. And honestly, who doesn't want to fire some broadsides at the French? 
> 
> According to the Pirates Wiki, the Curse of the Black Pearl takes place between 1720 and 1750. I don't think that a year was ever actually specified. I am trying to stay within these historical bounds, however.
> 
> The English were very busy in the Caribbean in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.  
They had actually taken Jamaica from the Spanish in 1655, so Port Royal would have been English for less than a century at the time of this story(1). Interestingly, the English fought with the African descendants of Jamaica for several years, but ceded part of the interior of the island to them in 1739(2).  
Of more relevance to this story is the Anglo-Spanish War (1727-1729). Let's say that this story takes place in the early 1730s, so England is not at war with Spain, but things are tense. 
> 
> Where are the French in all of this? They fought the English during the Spanish War of Succession (1701-1714) and then fought them again from 1740 to 1748(3). After a brief respite comes the Seven Years War (called the French and Indian War in the U.S.). For a rather small island nation, they really like to pick fights, don't they? Tbh I have to grudgingly admire that kind of hardheadedness. 
> 
> Notes:  
1) "Jamaica", https://www.britannica.com/place/Jamaica  
2) "The Jamaican Maroons", http://www.nlj.gov.jm/history-notes/The%20Maroons%20edited%20final.htm  
3) "Britain at War", http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/british/empire_seapower/overview_empire_seapower_01.shtml#six


	9. Your Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timeline for the beginning of this chapter takes place on the same day as the previous chapter. Hopefully that's not too confusing--I wanted to capture James' excitement to go to Hispaniola as well as Elizabeth's reaction to his leaving.

Today Elizabeth was finally penning her letter to Will. 

She labored over what to say. How could she begin to tell her friend and former lover all that had happened?

She nibbled at the tip of the quill uncertainly. It was very seldom that words failed her and she was rather vexed by the experience. He had jilted her, so not all of her feelings towards him were cordial—even if his intentions had been good. The irony of the situation was not lost on her, which only soured her mood further. And then she was jealous of his adventures. She had always wanted to see Spain, something which horrified both her father and James, since England had been at war with Spain on and off for most of their lives. Still, it sounded very beautiful and she was very curious about the Moors and old Catholic churches and the once-mighty Armada. And a part of her worried for Will, of course, although that part shrank a little each day.

At first, she was quite alarmed when she realized it. She had stood up to _marry_ this man only a few months ago and now she went for hours without even thinking about him once. What kind of woman did that make her? Even if he had been the one to spurn her, she still felt a pang of disloyalty.

She was not childish enough to pretend she didn’t know the reason. These precious few weeks with James had shown her a side of him she never could have imagined existed—and she quite liked it. He was a good husband in all of the usual ways—considerate, respectful, indulgent. He was also stubborn, passionate, and brave—sometimes foolishly so, in her opinion. And handsome. And loving. And kind. She scoffed a little at herself, mooning about like a girl with her first love.

Her cheeks flushed when she remembered how insistently he had kissed her, almost desperately. No one had kissed her like that before, not even Will. Certainly, none of the scoundrels she had briefly courted in Port Royal had. They were greedy, inexperienced, rough. James had been rough when he kissed her, but that felt different. There was a distinct edge to the way he held her tightly, as if he was restraining not her but himself from consuming her entirely. It was really enough to make a girl’s mind wander, and Elizabeth was no saint in the first place.

She dipped her quill in the inkstand and managed:

_Dear Will._

She paused. Was it safe to address him by name? What if the letter was intercepted? But surely just using his first name was alright…it was a common enough name.

Thus assured, she stoically pressed on.

_Dear Will,_

_ Nothing is the same without you. I’m glad you are safe, although if you are with Jack , that is less than promising for your continued safety. Still, I wish I had gone with you._

Her pen stuttered above the paper, creating a stain. Did she really mean that? She wanted to gallivant in Spain with her friends, but…she imagined the pain in James’ eyes if she had left. She reminded herself that she would have left _before_ they were married, before things had changed between them, so he would not have been as wounded, but the thought was not especially comforting. For all that she loved to tease him, she disliked the idea of causing him pain. Hadn’t she done enough of that already?

_I am married now. You may well guess who it is. You needn’t worry; he is a good man and willing to deal with my considerable faults. He makes me laugh. And I am safe, for the time being, although we are being watched. I do not dare put anything else in writing._

_ I am well and wish the best for you. I was angry with you for leaving me, for not fighting harder to free me, but now I think I understand. Perhaps it was time for us to finally grow up and accept our roles in this life._

She chewed her lip thoughtfully. She wasn’t sure that she fully believed that last line, but after the scare her father had been through, she felt a stronger sense of duty than before. She would stay safe for the Governor, even if she felt smothered by a judgmental society. Her love for her father was the only feeling stronger than her love for freedom.

She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out the ring Will had given her only a few months ago. It was a plain yellow band, scratched and scuffed but dear to her nonetheless. The sight of it made a lump rise in her throat. It was time to let this go, too. Carefully, she tucked it into the envelope.

_I am returning this to you. Maybe in the future you will find a nice girl to wear it for you. I have taken good care of it for her._

_ Your friend,_

_ Elizabeth_

With a shuddering sigh, Elizabeth reached for the wax seal and pressed it into the crisp parchment. She would have to find a time to take the letter to the smithy, but she wasn’t sure when. She tucked it into the fabric of the dress Aoife laid out for the next day, so she would remember to take it with her into town. She only hoped Will’s friend could still be trusted to carry her message to him.

Feeling quite somber, Elizabeth rose from her writing desk and went to the bay windows of the study, hugging herself tightly. James was at Fort Charles and had been for most of the week. She had barely seen him these past few days. She contemplated taking the sloop out, but the waves were choppy and the fickle summer skies promised a storm.

So she went to find Aoife and her younger sister, Eileen, to entice them into a game of gin rummy. They had been having quite a good time before Mrs. Reynolds stumbled upon her young mistress and two servants laughing rather fiendishly as Aoife swept the deck, again. Then the two younger girls were scolded and rounded up for chores, despite Elizabeth’s pleas.

She really did need to make some more friends, she reflected. But being around Aoife was so easy; she could and did forget the class division between them. Alas, Mrs. Reynolds never did.

The idea of making friends in society was thoroughly unpleasant to Elizabeth. There were a few women with whom she had a pleasant acquaintance, but no lasting friendships beyond girlhood. It was a little lonely, but Elizabeth knew she didn’t have the best reputation. Perhaps now that she was safely married and no longer a threat to the single ladies of Port Royal, she might make some friends.

It would have to wait another day, however.

Elizabeth felt emotionally exhausted. Parting with that silly little ring had been agonizing, and yet…somehow freeing, too. Maybe she could finally move on from Will. Her heart pounded at the thought. Is that what she wanted? What then? She thought of James’ warm smile and her heart stuttered a little. She would reflect on that later, _if_ he ever saw fit to return home again.

She picked at her dinner and went to bed early, allowing herself to cry, just a little, for Will. Might as well get it out of the way before James returned, she reasoned. James did not expect anything from her but she still felt rotten about the whole situation—she missed Will, who was gone; James loved her, and she was uncertain how to feel about that; and no one was truly happy. This whole blasted situation could have been avoided if James had been open about his feelings from the beginning of their courtship. Well, perhaps _open_ was not the correct term—she had goaded a confession out of him, unintentionally. She smiled at the memory of him declaring his love, rather heatedly, after her clumsy insistence that their initial courtship had not been romantic. What fools they both were, she thought with amusement. She fell asleep easily that night and did not wake when James came in much later.

* * *

James was gone when she awoke. The fabric on his side of the bed was cool; he had probably been awake for several hours. Sighing, Elizabeth got out of bed and ran a heavy brush through her tangled hair before slumping down the stairs.

Aoife was far too chipper for so early in the morning, she thought crossly, as she slouched in her seat at the absurdly long dining table—even more absurd because she was the only one sitting down. Aoife set down her morning coffee in its little saucer, humming a lilting Irish tune to herself as she wandered back to the kitchen. Elizabeth wondered what had her in such high spirits. _Oh, to be eighteen again_, she thought nostalgically, reflecting on the superiority of her twenty-one wise years.

Mrs. Reynolds was decidedly less chipper. She appeared faithfully at Elizabeth’s side with a plate of eggs and ham, placing them before Elizabeth and patting her affectionately on the shoulder. “There now, dear. Try to eat. I know you must be disappointed to have him leave so soon.”

Startled, Elizabeth looked up from the milky surface of her coffee. “Leave? Has James gone somewhere?”

Aoife and Mrs. Reynolds exchanged a loaded look before Aoife said brightly, “I’m off to dust, then!”

Elizabeth turned to Mrs. Reynolds for an explanation. “Oh, my dear, I’m sure he just didn’t want to wake you,” she supplied helpfully, without really answering her question. “He left first thing this morning with Lieutenant Groves.”

“But where?” Elizabeth cried, startled by the emotion in her voice. Stupidly, she raced to the nearest window, brushing the lace curtains aside, as if she could prevent him from leaving. She could see the bustling harbor and the swarms of merchants and marines strolling along the decks.

The beautiful _Dauntless_ was not there; neither were her sister ships, the _Nancy Dawson _and _Georgianna_. So he was truly gone, then. “He didn’t even say good-bye,” she said to herself, and to her mortification, she felt tears prick at her eyes.

Oh, so it was to be one of _those_ days. She assumed these absurd emotions had to do with the ache in her belly and the blood on her thighs last night. There was no logical reason for her to be upset that her husband was _doing his job_. And yet, his abrupt departure stung, more than she wanted to admit.

She skulked away, her disappointment turning to embarrassed hurt to anger in a matter of moments. They would be having words when he returned, she thought decidedly.

Mrs. Reynolds must have seen the veritable black mood settling around her young mistress. “Now, Mrs. Norrington, don’t fret,” she said affectionately, grabbing a handkerchief from one of the pockets of her ample dress and dabbing at the corners of Elizabeth’s eyes, which threatened to betray her with tears.

Elizabeth sniffled and said, “I am most certainly _not _fretting,” before beating a hasty retreat to her bedroom to fret some more.

* * *

She spent most of the day abed, alternating between fitful sleep and glaring up at the ceiling of their shared bedroom. She wasn’t sure what she was more upset about, the fact that James had left without telling her or the notion that she was so hurt by it. Why, what was wrong with her? James she would deal with when he returned, but her own feelings were rather startling. Again, she decided to attribute this to her monthly and the fact that he had kissed her so sweetly the morning before and then up and _left_, like a common scoundrel. Really, the man was no better than a pirate. The thought of his reaction to this comparison made her smile and she was quite determined to relay that information to him.

The smile faded when she wondered what he was up to. If it was only a routine patrol, he would not have taken one of the larger first-rate ships like the _Dauntless_. Besides, patrols were scheduled; they would have known in advance. Elizabeth _assumed _he hadn’t known about this in advance. He would have at least mentioned it in passing if he had, wouldn’t he?

Elizabeth remembered even as a girl her father and his colleagues burning the midnight oil over how thin their Navy was spread across her watery empire. There were simply too many little islands in the Caribbean to protect, to say nothing of the growing colonies in North America.

Of course, Elizabeth knew all about the pirates in these waters. She also knew that they had been forced back and back over the past few decades as the Navy consolidated its vice-like grip on its Caribbean colonies and edged out the Spanish competition. But the ones who survived were tenacious and cutthroat in a very literal sense of the word. James was known as the Scourge of Piracy for good reason, but she knew what they were capable of and how much they hated Navy men.

She was afraid for James, and she had never felt that way before.

She had been serious when she told him that she used to wait for him and his ship to appear on the horizon. But when she was younger, she had never seriously _worried_ about him. She impatiently awaited his return so she could interrogate him about his adventures and wheedle him for bits of treasure—maps or shells or splinters of wood from a battle—but she had never doubted that he would return. As a child, he had seemed so sturdy and reliable to her, a constant in her life, as sure as the morning sun. Now that she was older and knew more about the dangers of sea, she realized how naïve she had been. Hadn’t he always told her that? _“Life at sea is not a game, Miss Swann,”_ he had warned her without his usual warmth when he had returned from a particularly taxing patrol. He had lost several men to yellow fever and another to an Indian ambush. _“It is dangerous and back-breaking work and it has taken far better men than me.”_

She decided a visit to her father would help take her mind off of things.

Weatherby Swann was at home in his office with an ever-increasing pile of paperwork when the butler announced her presence.

He rose to his feet, beaming. “Elizabeth! What a wonderful distraction from this drudgery. Would you like a cup of tea, my dear?” He embraced her and she smiled in spite of herself. She was still adjusting to living apart from her father. Though he was only a few miles away, they had never lived separately in any capacity and it was still strange to her.

“Thank you, Father, that would be lovely.” She sat down in the velvet-lined chair next to his and surveyed the study they had visited not too long ago in the middle of the night. “Are you well?”

“Perfectly well, my dear. Aside from being a bit addle-brained, but I can’t blame that on anyone but myself,” he said good-naturedly, accepting a cup of tea from Angus. “And you? How is married life treating you?” There was a sly twinkle in his eye and Elizabeth scowled at him a little.

“I hope you’re not expecting grandchildren any time soon,” she replied tartly. “We’ve only just married.”

Weatherby had the grace to color a little. She had no doubt that was exactly what he was after—he had made no secret of the fact that he wanted grandchildren. “Perhaps that is just as well, as I am not sure if the world is ready for another Elizabeth,” he said with a chuckle.

She made a face at him. “Such a wit, Father,” she said dryly, but she couldn’t keep the smile from her face.

Her father gazed at her fondly, the steam from his tea fogging his reading spectacles just a little. “Your mother would be so proud of the woman you’ve become,” he said suddenly, out of nowhere. His eyes crinkled at the corners as they did when he was feeling especially tender—which was often. He was a very sentimental old man.

Elizabeth swallowed.

They rarely spoke of her mother, Rachel. She seemed more of a phantom than a person to Elizabeth, who only ever knew her from her father’s memories. She had a tiny oil miniature of her, painted only a few months before she herself was born, according to her father. She had been told she favored her mother, but the portrait was damnably small and she strained to see traces of herself in the microscopic bits of pigment. They had the same eyes, though, she knew that—everyone had been telling her that since she could remember. Her mother had been very spirited, too, and intelligent—a well-educated lady, a talented rider, and an accomplished pianist. Elizabeth had tried to take to the piano as a young girl to feel closer to her mother, but every lesson ended in frustration and tears and a frazzled teacher tossing a resignation letter at her father.

“I hope so,” she murmured, with uncharacteristic somberness. “I don’t know that _I_ am proud of the woman I’ve become.” She studied the cup in her slender hands.

Weatherby leaned forward and surrounded her hands with his own. They were only slightly larger and she noticed for the first time that age spots were beginning to appear on his pale skin. “You seem upset, my dear,” he said quietly, searching her downcast face with concern.

She sighed, embarrassed, and admitted, “James left this morning without a word. I’ve no idea where he’s gone or when he’ll be back. Quite considerate of him.” The last sentence smacked distinctly of petulance but she did not care in that moment.

To her irritation, her father’s lips twitched, as if he was trying not to smile. “Ah. Yes. My secretary told me that some Navy men left for Hispaniola early this morning. Something about a raid on a pirate nest.”

Elizabeth’s heart stuttered in her chest. A pirate raid? “I did not think there were many pirates left in these waters,” she mused, and if her father detected a note of wistfulness in her voice, he wisely did not comment on it.

“Not many, thanks to your erstwhile husband, but some of them raided Savanna-la-Mar earlier this week,” the governor said, returning his hands to the stack of paperwork on his desk. He sifted through the paper and came across what appeared to be a tally sheet listing the damages. “One of the largest sugar plantations in Jamaica was completely sacked. Quite the fuss! I’ve yet to go over there myself but I’m told the fiends didn’t leave so much as a husk behind.”

Elizabeth allowed herself a smug smile. She wondered how Beckett was taking the news that such a disaster had happened after he had sworn to keep the English Caribbean under tighter control. She hoped his superiors would not mince words with him.

Her thoughts flitted back to James. He was a capable man—more than capable—but she resented being left at home to worry while he fought pirates. He could have at least invited her. She knew he would never agree to such a notion, which only made her more determined to have her way. She paced in front of the window, her eyes scanning the harbor like a hawk as she began to formulate a plan.

“I know that look,” Weatherby said with a sigh. “What are you up to?”

“Up to?” She inquired innocently, turning the full force of those wide brown eyes on her father. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Father.” She returned to her proprietary inspection of the harbor. Perhaps if she changed into her Marine uniform, she could ask some of the sailors for more information about Hispaniola. She was so very curious.

Weatherby groaned. “Well, why don’t you accompany me to Savanna-la-Mar? I feel as if I ought to keep an eye on you for the time being.”

Elizabeth brightened immediately. “That would be _splendid_.” She could ask the sugar merchants for descriptions of the pirates—maybe she knew them! She would have to refrain from asking about Will or Jack, though, she thought ruefully.

In her excitement to leave with her father on official business, she did not remember to take Will’s letter to the smithy. It rested in the chair in front of her father’s desk, in plain sight, quite forgotten.

When Elizabeth and Weatherby passed Beckett's men stationed on the outskirts of the King's House, she gave them a mock salute, not caring if they relayed the message of her insolence to Beckett. If they were to spy on her father and her in broad daylight, she would give them something to complain about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, Elizabeth isn't really the weepy type, but she's going through a lot right now, ok?
> 
> Is anyone else going stir crazy? I'm on mandatory paid leave from my job for a week and after that, I don't know. I work at a library/archive so naturally I scooped up several books on Caribbean history and the Royal Navy before I was forcibly ejected from the building. Ah. You'll probably be hearing a lot from me if this virus doesn't settle down soon.
> 
> I always appreciate hearing your thoughts. I am going a bit manic with writing so hopefully everything makes sense--I'm trying to line up all my plot points but I appreciate your critiques as much as your compliments, I promise.


	10. The Battle of Hispaniola

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The first article of an Englishman's political creed must be,  
That he believeth in the sea."
> 
> \-- Lord Halifax, 1694.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, over one hundred kudos? Thank you so much. I can't tell y'all how much this means to me.

A spray of salt water stung James’ eyes and he _laughed_. The blood sang in his veins. The Jamaican night was cool and humid; the starry sky hung on the Caribbean waters like a velvety blanket dotted with diamonds. It was an hour until dawn and he was rowing himself and his officers in a small boat to the _Nancy Dawson_, where the crew was waiting to pull them up alongside the second-rate ship. 

In just a few hours’ time, they would be sailing into Bahía de Samaná, a well-guarded bay on the eastern side of the island. The deep waters immediately outside the harbor would allow the larger ships to get close to their prey, but there were a number of dangers, as well—a honeycomb-like collection of caves sprawled across the eastern flank of Hispaniola, full of pirates and drunks and petty thieves, as well as the occasional sea cow*. Then there was the jungle that encircled the small settlement, an ominous, sweltering shadow that could easily hide several hundred men before they made themselves known. 

  
It would not be an easy mission, but it was possible. The previous time that the Navy had tried to take the pirate nest in Bahía de Samaná, they had come away with a disproportionate number of casualties, licking their wounds and falling back back to Jamaica. That had been in 1702. Now, two decades later, the Navy had many more ships and able-bodied sailors stationed in the Caribbean. This time around, they did not intend to retreat. 

  
The crew of the _Nancy Dawson_ pulled their little boat up alongside and hauled them over. Gillette went to find the captain and James followed suit, moving at a leisurely pace so as to inspect the ship. She was a good, sturdy ship, with perhaps eighty guns, and she was long and lean, like a greyhound. She was not his beloved _Dauntless_, but it would have been ungentlemanly to hold that against her. She was a fine ship in her own right and with a little luck, she would see her first victory at sea today. He eyed the sails snapping aggressively in the breeze and didn’t hear his name being called the first time.

  
“I say! Norrington, you lazy bastard, is that you?!” 

  
James snapped back to reality, his eyes narrowing at the wildly inappropriate greeting. 

  
He did not have time for a stern rebuke, though, because said offender was immediately in his space, clapping him roughly on the shoulder—so hard that he almost doubled over. The man had fists the size of hams. 

  
“He says he’s a friend of yours, Commodore,” Gillette noted with a wry chuckle, standing politely to the side, not making even a token effort to come to his friend’s aid. 

And then James realized who it was.

He had met this singular individual, one Brodie Anson, back in Portsmouth. They had enlisted on the same ship when they were first-year midshipmen. Anson had been a burly fellow even in his youth; now he stood several inches taller than James and about three stones heavier. He was a Glaswegian through and through, and the Navy had only slightly managed to tame his exuberance, if his greeting was anything to go by.

  
“Anson?” James exclaimed, his annoyance melting away. For two men in the same line of work, their paths had crossed very rarely; after the boys had passed their tests to become lieutenants, Anson had been stationed in the Azores. James had thought of him occasionally over the years, but it didn’t do to dwell on these childhood friendships; at least two of the other midshipmen in their class had died already. 

  
“That’s _Captain_ to you, my lad!” Anson said affectionately, giving him one last thump on the shoulder. At fifteen, he had been the oldest midshipman in their class and loved to lord it over the younger boys, especially James, who refused to acknowledge seniority on the basis of something as trifling as age.

  
James struggled to keep the astonishment off of his face. This man was a _captain_? Wonders would never cease. “I believe congratulations are in order, then. Captain,” he added teasingly after a beat. The two men shook hands firmly. “I’m glad to see you in such good health.” 

  
Anson beamed at him. “And you as well, Jamie. Let me quickly show you around the _Nancy Dawson_.”

  
“It’s Commodore now, actually,” James corrected as he followed the larger man around, shaking hands with various crew members as he was introduced and politely admiring the ship’s anatomy. 

That comment got Anson’s attention. The easygoing Scotsman’s eyes widened, and something like brotherly pride shimmered in his warm brown eyes. “Is it, now,” he said. “Well, well. After we tidy up in Hispaniola, we’ll get a drink in town and you can tell me how you managed to get the poor sods to promote you. God knows I haven’t had any luck in the past five years!” 

James smiled but his eyes shifted to the horizon. The _Nancy Dawson_ began a south-easterly course towards their target as the early morning stars began to fade from the sky. He looked back towards Port Royal, which was receding ever so slightly. He sighed and forced himself to focus on the task at hand—Anson and Gillette were reviewing the ammunition supplies with the gunner’s crew. He realized rather belatedly that he hadn’t had a chance to tell Elizabeth of his departure. She had been asleep when he returned yesterday evening and he had left so early this morning, it didn’t seem fair to wake her when she looked so peaceful. He hoped she wouldn’t worry—and then, selfishly, he hoped that she might worry a little. He chided himself for being foolish and shifted into battle mode, banishing any sentimental thoughts from his mind for the time being. 

  
He checked his flintlock pistol for shot and powder and patted the sheath of the rapier at his side. The cool steel of the blade was always a comfort to him before a battle.

They would be at Hispaniola within the hour. He withdrew to the captain’s quarters with the other officers to review the battle plan, hoping that this would be his chance to prove himself again.

* * *

  
  
A musket ball whistled by James’ ear as he hastily reloaded his own weapon and shot at the offender, who obliged him by clutching the blossoming red stain in his chest and falling to the deck. 

The invasion had not gone exactly to plan.

The _Georgianna_ and the _Nancy Dawson_ made it into the harbor without hitting one of the numerous reefs, flanking Beckett in the _Dauntless_. They burst into the early morning harbor with cannon fire—no sense in trying to hide three large ships in a small bay—and the town responded immediately, humming with activity. 

The bastards had rallied quickly enough, James would grant them that. The _Georgianna_ had sailed too far into the harbor and exposed her right flank to the encampment just outside the jungle. Shots peppered her hull and pierced the sails, but the able Captain Montgomery returned fire within minutes, shattering the sandstone walls of their fort. 

Soon, the island’s erstwhile civilians were leaning out of the windows of their homes, shops, and inns, firing long-barreled rifles with admittedly poor accuracy that could only improve as the British drew nearer. 

Gillette was rallying the Marines to the quarter deck, where they would descend in a boat and make for the shore, under the cover of the _Nancy Dawson_’s heavy fire. Groves was just visible on the poop deck of the _Dauntless_, shouting and gesturing with the signal flags so the _Georgianna_ and _Nancy Dawson_ could follow her lead.

Moments before the Marines began to descend, James and the gunners rushed into action. They would have to act quickly and carefully to cover their companions’ descent. 

James and the master gunner shouted orders to the twenty or so men on the upper gun deck, struggling to be heard over the deafening explosions.

James saw a fire bloom in the window of a tavern directly in front of their ship and shouted “HIT THE DECK!” moments before a piece of homemade shrapnel rocketed over the heads of the crew. On his elbows against the deck, looking up into the angry red dawn above, he felt his heart soar with joy.

He was where he belonged.

The men rallied quickly and returned to their positions, swabbing and reloading the cannons with a practiced efficiency. They peppered the beach with firepower as a few unlucky pirates attempted to make for the enemy brigantine just off the quay. A well-aimed shot ripped through her hull, guaranteeing that she would be out of action.

A midshipman to James’ left shouted with excitement and James laughed, knowing the feeling well. “Your first battle?” He asked the young sprite, a handsome, curly-headed lad. 

“Respectfully, sir, I’ve fired my fair share of cannon shot,” the boy replied, heaving an iron ball to his companion, who swiftly loaded it and hit the unfortunate brig a second time. “But I can’t say I shall ever tire of it!”

But of course, the _Dauntless_ under Beckett’s command would not be shown up. After fighting to get deeper into the bay, her crew fired from all three decks simultaneously, obliterating the northernmost part of the harbor and turning the seaside buildings to cinder. 

It was a pretty piece of fighting, even James had to admit it. Not aloud, of course, but he could acknowledge it silently.

After three more rounds of firing and swabbing the cannons, James wondered blithely if the pirates were going to put up more of a fight. 

The Marines were almost to the shore. They had managed to cover the thousand or so yards between the nearest ship and the beach area with minimal casualties. James looked to the _Dauntless_ for further instruction. At this point, the officer on deck would direct the other ships with a signal flag. But where was Groves? 

James squinted and peered across the short distance between the two ships, sweeping the upper deck with his hawk-like gaze in his search for his friend. He wouldn’t jump to bleak conclusions just yet; despite his occasional disorderly manner, Groves was an excellent officer.

Nor did he have time to worry, as it turned out. He felt rather than heard or saw the powerful current on the wind as a shell—_fired from where?_ He was so sure they had taken out the main defensive posts—lambasted into the deck only a few yards away and exploded on impact.

In a moment, James was airborne. Instinctively, he knew his boots had left the deck, yet he drifted almost lazily through the air, observing with mild curiosity the frantic men running beneath him. The midshipman he had just spoken with was now missing an arm and part of his face. The early morning sky, now a deceptively peaceful blue, passed above him. The side of the ship loomed large in his vision. If he hit his head on the railing now, it would do him in as surely as a truncheon. His ears rang painfully. He reached out for—something. 

There was nothing.

And he hurtled back to earth, as heavy as Icarus. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did ya miss me? Were you hoping that James and Elizabeth were finally gonna get it on? NOPE! How about some more OCs? Please don't bully me. We ARE making progress, lads! I just want James to have lots of friends who love and respect him :>
> 
> I know, it's a woefully short chapter, but I am already halfway finished with the next one! You won't have to wait for too long!
> 
> *A sea cow being, of course, a manatee. I'm not sure what the layman's term was in 172-, but 'sea cow' seems appropriate. We didn't have Darwin and Linnaeus to explain taxonomies to us just yet! :D 
> 
> James' old ship mate Anson is, of course, named after THE Anson, one of the heroes of the British Royal Navy. https://www.britannica.com/biography/George-Anson-Baron-Anson
> 
> Bahía de Samaná is a real place! You can read about it here: https://www.godominicanrepublic.com/poi/family/samana/samana-bay-2/ I've never been to the Dominican Republic but it looks absolutely breathtaking.
> 
> And lastly, the Nancy Dawson is named for this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UjSlwkLKN4g


	11. As You Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James should have known better than to dash off to a fight without saying goodbye and Elizabeth means to set him straight.

Savanna la Mar had been a _most_ welcome diversion. While Weatherby attempted to placate the plantation owners—by turns furious and despairing—Elizabeth eyed the destruction of the formerly fine estate with a critical eye. The main house had been torched, but not before it had been thoroughly looted. She sniffed in contempt, nudging aside a brick from what had been the slave quarters only a short while ago. Her father would not confirm whether the slaves had been set free or not, but he did not have to—the plantation owner complained to anyone who would listen that not only had he been put out of house and home, but his property had run off—the sheer ungratefulness of it all! 

  
Elizabeth did not have her father’s political acumen. She watched the sugar merchant, a plump trader originally out of Dover, wail and gesture emphatically to her father as he bemoaned his fate. 

  
Served him right.

  
Still, there were no traces of any of her pirate friends, as she had hoped. She knew better than to _really_ hope for it, realistically, and yet…she felt she would have welcomed even Jack with open arms.

  
That was when she knew she was feeling really lonely.

  
On the carriage ride back to the King’s House, her father picked her brain about the idea of hosting a ball. After all, she and James had been married nearly two months now and they had hardly been out in society! What _would_ Port Royal’s matrons think of her unforgivable behavior? 

  
Elizabeth leaned out of the carriage, cooing at the seagulls that alighted on the frame of the vehicle. Weatherby said something, but she was too lost in a daydream on Isla de las Cruces.

“Pardon?” She drawled lazily, turning to look at the governor over one lightly freckled shoulder.

  
“I say, isn’t that Lord Beckett?” She followed her father’s pointing hand.

  
It certainly _looked_ like Beckett, sauntering down the walkway of their home, looking a little disheveled but otherwise thoroughly pleased with himself. 

  
All of a sudden, Elizabeth remembered with a pang the letter she had left at her father’s desk. _That bloody letter._ But Beckett would not stoop so low as to go through her father’s things, would he? But then…she had left it in plain sight…almost as a _challenge_…

  
They were still some twenty or thirty yards from the house. A servant admitted Beckett and invited him in—hopefully just to wait in the front hall and not in her father’s private study.

  
As the carriage rolled to a stop, Weatherby offered her his hand to dismount from the carriage, but she ignored it, flouncing down next to him on the cobblestones. When Elizabeth and Weatherby entered the King’s House, Beckett waved at them cordially, as if he had been expecting them—he had the nerve to look as if he was welcoming them into their own home.

  
Elizabeth felt her temper flare at the sight of the hateful little man. She turned her malevolent glare on Beckett, waiting for him to say something insipid. 

  
“Governor Swann, Mrs. Norrington, how good to see you both,” Beckett said coolly, turning that predatory gaze on them. Slate-colored eyes raked over the two Swanns as he took in their appearances. 

  
Elizabeth stared back bluntly, noting the slight tears and burns in his usually crisp uniform. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

  
“I have good news to share, Governor,” Beckett continued smoothly, ignoring Weatherby’s startled greeting. 

  
“Indeed? Well, let’s head to the breakfast room, then. I could do with a spot of tea and a biscuit, myself.”

  
Elizabeth tried to calm herself by devising plans to get to her father’s study without arousing Beckett’s suspicion, but he seemed quite content with tea and biscuits—for now. Without waiting for them, Beckett turned on his heel, brushing past the manservant that had opened the double doors for them. 

  
Elizabeth scoffed at his arrogance. Weatherby took her arm and squeezed gently, silently warning her to behave. 

  
“Ah, Angus, will you get us something to drink? Tea, or perhaps something stronger, Lord Beckett?” Weatherby asked the butler as they followed their presumptuous host into the breakfast room, where he seated himself at the head of the small table. 

  
“Tea will be fine, thank you, Governor.” He looked up at the governor patiently, nodding with his chin to indicate that he should sit. 

  
Elizabeth gritted her teeth and sank into the chair next to her father.

  
Beckett leaned forward, his elbows propped on the table. Those uncanny eyes shone with an unusually feverish gleam as he confided, “The mission went quite well. We took a dozen prisoners and set the bay alight. We shan’t recover the sugar crop but we won’t have to fear a raid this time next year.” He regarded the duo over his steepled fingers, awaiting their reaction.

  
“So quickly?” Weatherby exclaimed. “Well! That is something to celebrate! Angus, I think we’ll have some of that port, after all—” 

  
“Prisoners?” Elizabeth inquired innocently, and she saw her father’s entire body convulse in a sigh. 

  
“Prisoners are certainly not suitable table conversation for a lady of noble birth,” her father said sharply, in one of his rare outbursts. Elizabeth didn’t take it to heart; he was attempting to be stern with her in front of Beckett for her own protection. 

  
“Hoping to see a familiar face, were you?” Beckett inquired lightly, but contempt dripped from his every word.

  
Elizabeth met his gaze levelly. “It might be preferable to present company,” she replied evenly, quirking an eyebrow. 

  
It was a foolish statement. She knew it as soon as she said it, but she couldn’t help herself. It was so bloody hard to keep her temper when he persisted in being so…so small, and so evil. 

  
Beckett absently picked at a loose thread on the cuff of his left sleeve. “I’m not so certain that your husband would agree with that statement. Or do you typically forget about him the moment that he leaves your sight?”

Elizabeth’s heart leapt into her throat and she couldn’t hide the surprise—and fear—from her expression. “James?” She exclaimed. “He was with you? And where is he now?” _And why didn’t he tell me?!_ She thought furiously, but managed to keep at least this comment to herself. It would certainly not help talk about their tempestuous marriage. Her father had mentioned that some Navy men had gone to Hispaniola; it made sense that James, as a senior officer, would go as well. But it stung that Beckett knew and she did not.

  
“He is at the fort in the medical bay,” Beckett continued in that infuriatingly casual vein, plucking at the offensively spry thread calmly. He managed to pull it loose and deposited it onto the linen tablecloth, meeting her panicked gaze with slightly raised eyebrows. “He was admitted with a head wound although, as his doting wife, I’m sure you already knew that.”

  
Elizabeth jumped to her feet, sending her chair flying as she stumbled towards the front of the manor. Weatherby frantically assailed Beckett for answers and pleaded with Elizabeth to wait just a moment, but she could not wait, _would_ not wait. 

  
She burst through the double doors, startling the butler Angus into dropping her father’s beloved 1695 bottle of port as she raced outside. No time to summon the coachman, who had just departed for the stables. She would run to the fort.

  
Goodness knows it was not the first time that the sensible citizens of Port Royal had seen Elizabeth Norrington, _née_ Swann, kicking up dust like a whirlwind. 

* * *

Her visit to the fort caused a bit of a stir and she could not bring herself to give a single damn about it.

  
Fortunately, it had been Theo Groves who had spotted her tearing towards the barracks like a Valkyrie on the warpath. A startled lieutenant had only just admitted her past the front gates when Groves stepped in and lightly took her arm, as gentlemanly as you please.

  
“My dear Mrs. Norrington, what a fuss you are making! I take it you are here to see Jamie? You know how these womenfolk worry,” he said rather loudly in an aside to the young man that Elizabeth had bullied into admitting her into the fort.

  
She turned to Groves with blazing eyes, but responded evenly, “I can assure you that you will have more cause to worry if you do not take me to my husband immediately.”

  
To her irritation, a huge grin split the tall man’s features. Was he having a laugh at her? If so, he would soon regret it. But he did not laugh. Instead, he respectfully corrected the sun hat that had nearly flown from her shoulders in her rampage before leading her to the north part of the fort, presumably towards the medical bay. “Strong words, my lady, I promise you I mean no ill will.” His eyes twinkled mischievously and she flushed in spite of herself. She had forgotten what an irrepressible flirt he was. She had liked him for it once, because he made her laugh at the otherwise dry and uninteresting society balls and because he didn’t seem interested in her lineage or wealth, but she was not in the mood for humor now.

  
“Lieutenant, please. I must know how James is. He…he did not even tell me he had left.” She was unable to hide the hurt from her voice, although it stung her pride to have Theodore Groves of all people witnessing her in a moment of…well, not weakness, but not the usual strength that she liked to project. 

  
To her gratification, Theo gasped. “He didn’t! Why, that rascal. What kind of man up and leaves his wife in the middle of the night? I shall be having _very_ stern words with him, Mrs. Norrington, _very_ stern words indeed.”

  
The idea of Theo being stern with_ anyone_ made her laugh at last. His light-hearted attitude was beginning to feel a little reassuring. Theo and James were like brothers; surely Theo would not be joking with his friend’s wife if he was seriously hurt…or worse. 

  
Would he? 

  
Her heart hammered in her chest and she looked at him beseechingly. 

  
Theo understood and quickened his pace, leading her back indoors as they passed under a low archway into a clean, sterile hallway. “He’s just here down to the left, Mrs. Norrington. The doctor has said he needs time to rest but…” Theo glanced around them surreptitiously. “I see that the good doctor is not in.” He rapped on the wooden door twice, hard. “Commodore? Are you decent?” Without waiting for a response, he leaned into the door with his shoulder and opened it.

  
Elizabeth followed expectantly, unsure of what she would find.

  
The room was small and sparsely furnished, gently lit by the sunlight that filtered through the open window on the left side of the room. There were two beds in the room but her eyes were drawn to the one that James occupied immediately. He lay on a simple cot on the left, next to the window, where a small vase containing flowers sat upon the sill. Elizabeth’s heart burned with jealousy. Who was leaving flowers for him? But she would not be distracted. She turned the full force of her inquisitive gaze on him.

  
Her husband appeared to be unconscious, but his chest rose and fell in a regular, reassuring manner. The left part of his head was obscured by a cotton bandage, from above his left eyebrow down past his ear. The bandage was either fresh or he was no longer actively bleeding, both of which seemed to be good signs to her. 

  
She did not notice Theo quietly slip out of the room and close the door behind him.

She knelt by James’ bedside, hesitantly reaching for one of his hands. He stirred and rolled over a little, making some unintelligible noise. Those lovely emerald eyes flew open when he recognized her, and she marveled at how long his dark eyelashes were, almost girlish. He started to sit up.

  
“Absolutely not,” she said firmly, getting to her feet and pressing down on his chest firmly. He resisted initially, but seemed to think better of it upon seeing her expression. “Now, perhaps you’d care to explain what the hell happened and how you ended up here?” In her anger, she forgot about the occupant in the other bed, who didn’t stir anyway.

  
She noted with immense satisfaction that he looked quite taken aback. James Norrington, the Scourge of Piracy, who had hanged God only knew how many criminals and fought more battles than he could remember, looked downright _sheepish_. The tips of his ears turned slightly pink—at least the one that was not obscured by the bandage wrapped around his head.

  
She glared down at him, her arms folded across her chest, waiting imperiously for an explanation. “Well?”

  
“Elizabeth…I am sorry.” He looked up at her guiltily, even as he seemed almost confused. _Why?_ She thought, mystified. Didn’t she have a right to be angry at him? “I did not realize that you would be upset.” 

  
Elizabeth’s jaw dropped in shock. How had he managed to make her even angrier? “_Not upset_?” She managed, her voice cracking with emotion. “I don’t know what exactly you have between your ears in lieu of a brain, James Norrington—sea kelp, maybe—but _I_ am under the impression that being concerned about my husband _almost dying_ is a perfectly reasonable reaction.” She punctuated every syllable with the violence of a gunshot. 

  
Now it was James’ turn to look flabbergasted. “I…” He stared at her in wonder, looking dazed. He lifted a shaky hand to the injured side of his head. “It was just a graze, really…an exploding shell…it only scraped the skin. Lots of blood loss but no real damage done. I was very lucky. And we captured what was left of the pirates,” he added, smiling for the first time. Damn it, he looked slightly smug. She wondered, not for the first time, if his gentlemanly demeanor hid a less-than-gentlemanly pride. He was quite good at his profession, she supposed grudgingly.

  
Elizabeth closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing herself not to lose her temper again. With a heavy sigh, she sank down on the foot of his bed. She propped her elbows on her legs and cradled her chin in her hands, steadfastly not looking at him. “James, how could you let me find out like this? What if you had—” She cut herself off, biting back the swollen feeling in her throat that usually preceded tears. Oh no, he would not be getting any tears from her. She would not _reward_ him with such feminine displays of emotion, like a dutiful wife welcoming her husband home from war. No, she was _angry_, dammit. And relieved…but the weight of that fear leaving her body exhausted her. She turned to the flowers on the windowsill, inspecting them with great interest. "Did you have a visitor?" She inquired casually, but it did not fool him one bit.

"Ah, I believe Midshipman Greene's aunt left those here for him." That must have been the occupant of the other bed. She nodded stiffly. That was acceptable.

  
James inched towards the edge of the bed, reaching for her until he could hold one of her hands in his. “I am sorry to have caused you pain,” he said sincerely, and she huffed angrily. 

  
“Yes, you bloody well ought to be,” she agreed, glaring down at their joined hands. When she looked up again, there was a small, nervous smile on his face. 

  
“What?” She exclaimed hotly, narrowing her eyes at him. 

  
“I would be remiss if I did not admit that your concern warmed me,” he confessed, a slight blush coloring his fair cheeks. Without his wig, he looked much younger. They were less than a decade apart; sometimes it was easy to forget this because he carried himself with the dignity and authority of someone much older. 

  
Elizabeth smiled a little in spite of herself. “You are a strange man if you think that my charging in here to yell at you is a display of concern,” she said playfully, meeting his gaze at last.

He did not blink. “Is it not?” He asked slowly.

Elizabeth flushed but did not avert her eyes from him. 

He looked so…intense. As if the fate of the world was hanging on her answer.

The room felt stiflingly warm all of a sudden and she was conscious of the flyaway hairs stuck to her face with sweat. Her tongue felt swollen in her mouth as she clumsily tried to form words. She felt downright _nervous_, and that was as irritating as it was titillating. It was certainly an unfamiliar emotion for her.

She wet her lips to speak and answered, softly, “It is.” 

As soon as the words left her lips, she felt the truth of the statement reverberate throughout her body. She felt airy and light, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Of course, she cared for him. She always had, in some way or another. Her old feelings for Will had made her reluctant to see it; her bitterness towards society’s expectations of her as a wife made her wish to deny it. But Will was gone and there was no one now to see the strong-willed blonde woman leaning over her husband’s hands protectively, a dragon guarding something infinitely precious. The friendship of her childhood days and the uneasy partnership of their marriage had evolved into something much more intimate, as frightening as it was exciting. Why was she only seeing it now?

The raw emotion in James’ usually stoic face prompted her to add, “You know, I think I might be a little in love with you, Commodore.” 

  
James moved remarkably quickly for a man so recently injured. He sat up on the bed and pulled her towards him, clumsily bringing her into his lap. Those commanding hands became infinitely gentler as he cradled her face and kissed her warmly, parting her lips with his hot tongue.

She panted into his mouth, startled by the suddenness of his passion but quite pleased with his reaction overall. Her arms looped around his neck, gingerly avoiding the left side of his face. She would inspect that wound later. 

  
He pulled away from her for a moment, his eyes wide with wonder. “Elizabeth…do you really mean that?” His voice was low and husky. He looked unexpectedly vulnerable in that moment, and her heart clenched in her chest. 

She moved her hand from the right side of his face to brush his cheek, which was just beginning to sport a bit of stubble. “I believe I said that I _think_ I am in love with you,” she teased wickedly. “I daresay some convincing on your part might be in order to make me certain.” 

With a growl, he kissed her again, pressing her down into the bed. She gasped at the impropriety of it, thrilled at the thought that someone might come across them like this.

She was _thoroughly_ enjoying unraveling his self-control. 

To her disappointment, he only lay down next to her, looping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. He buried his nose in her hair, breathing deeply. “You are a torment, Elizabeth Norrington,” he whispered against her ear, raising goosebumps on her skin. “I believe you were born into this world specifically to vex me.” 

She laughed, delighted. “You’ve found me out,” she agreed merrily, turning in his arms so that she could face him. She kissed the tip of that patrician nose giddily. “I shan’t apologize for it, either.” 

James smiled at her, looping a loose curl around his fingers. “I love you,” he murmured, so quietly that she was not sure if he had meant to say it aloud. “I _adore_ you.” 

She grabbed his hand and kissed it swiftly, pressing his hand to her chest. She wanted to move it down to her breast to see how he would react, but she decided against further tormenting him…for the moment.

“Kiss me again,” she said instead, and he happily complied. 

His hands moved down to her waist, pulling her body flush against his, and she sighed in contentment. He pressed kisses against the column of her neck, making her shudder. Was he intending to deflower her right here in the medical bay? Those insistent kisses, with just a hint of teeth, were certainly giving her thoughts in that direction. 

“That is not _quite_ what I meant,” she gasped as he sucked at a particularly tender piece of skin just beneath her chin. She didn’t mind his ministrations one bit, but she would be quite vexed if he got her all worked up and refused to do more than kiss her.

James withdrew just a few inches and those sea-foam eyes glinted with mischief. “You should have specified, dear wife,” he returned. “I would happily kiss you anywhere you like.” The undisguised desire in his voice sent waves of heat pouring over her body. 

She found that she rather enjoyed the hungry way he was looking at her.

A moan from the other bed caused them both to flinch, and Elizabeth sat up, suddenly reminded of the other guest. 

“Oh, that will be Midshipman Greene,” James said, his voice as steady and even as it was on the quarterdeck. “Is he awake?”

Elizabeth gently disentangled herself from James’ arms and stood, tiptoeing over to the bed a few feet away.

The boy had not been nearly as fortunate as James.

Half of his face was covered in blood-soaked bandages and his left arm ended in a mangled stump just above his elbow. He looked to be fourteen years or so.

“Would you like me to call for the doctor?” She asked him softly, not wanting to startle him.

The boy’s right eye opened and rolled around anxiously until he found the source of the words. “It hurts very badly, Miss,” he said. “I think they’ve taken my arm. Can you…can you see it?” His voice hitched and Elizabeth was afraid he was about to cry. She did not want to embarrass the proud Navy man by witnessing his tears, though he was but a boy to her eyes. 

“They did indeed, Mr. Greene,” a voice concurred from behind her.

Elizabeth turned around and realized with a frown that her husband was standing at the head of the bed, smiling down at the young man. 

The boy’s good eye filled with tears, but James continued as if he hadn’t noticed. “Those bloody pirates made a right mess of your arm, but you handled it manfully. The surgeon cleaned you up quick and sent you back here in the blink of an eye. We’ll see about getting a wooden prosthetic for you, if you like. Now, now,” he said gently as a tear slid down the boy’s cheek. “I know it is painful, my lad. It will certainly take some getting used to, living without part of your arm. But you’re in good company. The first captain I served under lost his arm up to his shoulder—it didn’t stop him from being the finest captain I have ever known. Captain Dougal Mercer. He was courageous, just as you are.”

“_The_ Mercer? Of the Battle of Cape Passaro*?” The boy asked, astonished.

James nodded. “The very same.” 

Elizabeth looked at her husband in wonder, but for once he seemed impervious to her presence, gazing down at the boy with an almost fatherly attitude. His calm, reassuring manner seemed to put the child a bit at ease. Gingerly, he rested a hand on the uninjured part of the boy’s face. “Captain Anson and I wrote to your parents already. The Captain said that you are to take all the time you need to recover. He wants you to continue practicing your maths, though. Says you have quite the skill in navigation and would like to see you continue your studies.” 

The boy sniffled and looked up at James beseechingly. “But how will I write?” 

James cursed and the boy smiled a little bit at the lapse in control. “Ah, they took your good arm, did they? That’s a bad bit of luck there. Well, I shall help you practice. I’ll use my left hand, and you use your right, and we’ll figure it out together. Your writing will still be more legible than Captain Anson’s,” he added drily, and the boy gave him a watery smile. 

As touching as this exchange was, Elizabeth really felt that James should be resting--never mind that she had been distracting him only a few minutes ago. She laid a hand on his elbow and he glanced up at her in surprise, as if he had forgotten she was there. 

“Let me fetch the doctor for him, James. You should still be in bed.”

“Did they get you, too?” The boy piped up, pointing at James’ head.

“They did, but my mother tells me my head is full of rocks, so I think I’ll be alright,” the commodore said ruefully, earning a laugh from both of them.

The boy’s eyes fluttered and Elizabeth worried that the conversation strained him. James gently smoothed the sweat-soaked hair from his face and replaced the bandages, shifting his body so that Elizabeth could not see the extent of the head wound. 

It was bad, then. 

“Is it awful?” The boy asked quietly.

“Oh, it’s not so terrible,” James replied, but the joviality in his voice sounded more forced this time. “You will have a handsome scar when all of this is done. The other midshipmen will be quite envious.” 

The midshipman offered them a sleepy smile and his eyes fluttered closed. The poor lad was exhausted.

Elizabeth took James’ arm and led him back to the bed. “Try to get some rest,” she urged him, gently pressing him down against the cot.

He looked up at her with a rather petulant expression on his handsome face, so she added, “I’d like you for to come home soon.” She preferred giving orders but he seemed to respond better to requests, the stubborn man.

He sighed. “Very well.”

She leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss against his lips, smiling down softly at him. She leaned over his ear and amended in a low voice, “Come home to me soon, and I’ll let you properly apologize for worrying me so.” 

James’ eyes glittered with desire. “As you say,” he replied evenly, but his expression revealed the direction of his thoughts. He reached for her right hand and lifted it to his lips. "My love."**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The Battle of Cape Passaro (1718) did happen, but Douglal Mercer is not based on anyone. He was mentioned briefly in my fic My Gallant Crew--he had been the captain of the Dauntless while James was but a wee lieutenant of twenty :-) 
> 
> ** @HolmesFan has her James use this phrase often--"as you say, my love". I am terribly fond of it and I hope that you don't mind that I used it here. It is so sweet and so perfectly James.
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Yes, it was very gratuitous, but I like to see them happy.


	12. A Wonderful Teacher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Norringtons enjoy a quiet evening at home.

Elizabeth’s scent lingered in the medical bay long after she left. There was something distinctly summery about her: blonde hair, brown eyes, sun kissed skin, a scent of honey and sunlight wafting off of her lithe body.

The silence of the sterile little room roared in James’ ears as he replayed the scene in his mind over and over again.

“_You know, I think I might be a little in love with you, Commodore_.”

Her white teeth glinted in the light from the window. The joyful sunbeams brought out the impossible golden depths of her warm eyes. Her laughter pealed in his ears like church bells.

How many years had he waited for her to say those words?

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it was that she had transformed from a willful little girl into the daring woman he knew now. Sometime after her debut, perhaps. But then, he had been so focused on his career, and she was still so young—sixteen, maybe seventeen—and then…it seemed as if he had merely blinked and suddenly his visits to his old friend Weatherby Swann became infinitely more nerve-wracking—and exciting.

Oh, their declarations of love had not happened exactly as he had planned (and he _had_ planned them, very meticulously, but she did not even let him get to that part before she plummeted into the sea.). Ideally, she would have said those things to him at their wedding—the wedding he had intended when _he_ proposed, not the hushed affair that actually took place. Or perhaps after the wedding, after they made love for the first time and she was so perfectly content, and it escaped her exhausted body like a sigh: “_I love you, James.”_

But Elizabeth was not one for conventions and she had to tease him. “I _think_ I might…_a little.” _The teasing words danced before him like music notes in his mind’s eye. She truly was born into this world to torment him. If he didn’t know it before, he certainly knew it now. He knew that as surely as he knew that she _had_ to have ample cream and sugar with her coffee; as certainly as she would not wake before ten in the morning without a good deal of pleading; as clearly as he knew that the sun rose in the east and set in the west. 

And yet, it was precisely her teasing that made him finally accept the dearest wish of his heart, that tender hope he had cherished for so long that he had almost forgotten what it was like to live without it: that she _did l_ove him. She would not approach him like a timid maiden hesitantly holding out the most vulnerable feelings of her heart; she had her own way of doing things.

No, this was Elizabeth, bold as brass, laughing and posturing and shouting, every bit of her exuding energy and joyfulness. It only made sense that she would see fit to put him to sorts—and he was in the wrong, he knew that—before declaring her love for him in such an odd fashion.

He smiled. It was difficult to keep from smiling. He must have looked like a bloody fool and he could not bring himself to care.

He sat up in bed, squinting out of the window. It was early morning, judging by the vibrant white light; he had fallen asleep after Elizabeth’s visit and slept through the rest of the day and through the night. James had never slept so well in his entire life, although the bed was far less comfortable than the bed that awaited him at home. He raised his hand to his head, lightly touching the bandages. The wound stung a bit, but when he examined his fingers, there was no blood. Good. Perhaps he could go home now.

He was _dying _to take Elizabeth in his arms and show her how contrite he was for leaving her without a proper good-bye.

He glanced around the room. Midshipman Greene was dozing lightly. James decided to see if he could flag down the doctor. There was a little bell on the side table adjacent to his bed, but the idea of summoning another human being with that petulant little ring was unbearable. The walk would do him good.

The fort was uncommonly quiet. He could hear the distant ringing of the smithy as Mr. Brown prepared to open shop for the day as well as the island wind tearing through the open corridors, but he guessed that many of the men at the fort were on leave. The governor had declared the weekend a mini-holiday of sorts to celebrate the Navy’s success. There were the usual guards posted along the walls of the fortress, of course, but many Navy men and Marines were gleefully enjoying their first day off in weeks. He smiled to himself. He would have to find Anson and take him out for that drink.

In the meantime…

He managed to find the doctor reading in the small courtyard in the center of the fort. The doctor looked up in surprise when he saw James approaching and frowned slightly. “Commodore, I don’t think you should be leaving your bed just yet,” the Welshman said in a mild reproach, regarding the other man sternly over his round spectacles. He would not openly criticize James, out of respect for his rank, but he looked disapproving nonetheless. He dog-eared the page he was reading and stood up, scanning his patient thoughtfully. “Well, your color is good, at least. How are you feeling?”

“I am fine, thank you. In fact, I am feeling well enough to return home. After all, it is only a shallow wound. I will recover quite as well at home,” James offered helpfully. He did not wish to offend the good doctor, after all. He meant well. It was only that James hated being told what to do. He detested it when the other party so much as _implied_ that he needed to do something. And the doctor had all but insisted he spend a few days in the medical ward. It was all quite unnecessary, in his opinion.

Dr. Stephen’s owl-like eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You do seem quite spry,” he agreed reluctantly. “But…”

“I shall be back on the morrow anyway,” James added. “To check on Midshipman Greene. I will let you know if I am feeling worse.” 

The doctor sighed and chuckled a little. “You are quite determined to go home, it seems.”

“Yes.” James did not offer an explanation but his face felt slightly warm.

Dr. Stephen smiled slightly and shook his head. “Very well. Until tomorrow, Commodore.”

James nodded curtly and spun on his heel, all but running back to his cot to get his things before returning home.

* * *

Walking up to his fine home, James thought he had never seen a lovelier sight in his life. His heart beat a furious march in his chest as he forced himself to take small, measured steps. He would be in for no small amount of teasing if Elizabeth saw him tearing across the lawn to see her.

But when he arrived, only Mrs. Reynolds was there to greet him. The servant girls were out in the back with the washing; his manservant was exercising the horses; and his wife was nowhere to be seen. Still, he felt somewhat gratified to see Mrs. Reynolds’ plump, smiling face. “My dear! How are you feeling?” She exclaimed, gesturing him into the kitchen. “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll get something hot and fresh for you,” she offered helpfully as she bustled around in search of James’ favorite tea.

“I am quite well, thank you,” James answered, declining to sit at the small breakfast table just outside the lobby. Casually, he glanced about and inquired, “Where is Mrs. Norrington?”

Mrs. Reynolds sighed. “Ah, she went into town just a bit ago—I don’t know when she’ll be back. I’ll warn you, sir, she was quite cross with you for leaving like you did,” she added in a conspiratorial tone, as if he needed further admonishing.

His face warmed again and he stared down at his boots, resenting that he felt like a school boy caught in some mischief. “I am aware,” he said evenly. His spirits sank a little when he realized he would not be seeing Elizabeth right away. Just as well, perhaps. It was decidedly un-English to sweep up one’s wife and bear her away to the bedroom in the middle of the day, even if that is precisely what he had hoped to do.

The housekeeper pressed a cup of steaming Earl Grey into his hands and patted his cheek affectionately. “There now, dear. Why don’t you just relax? I have a lovely pork roast planned for this evening and I’ve asked the cook to bring out some of that brandy you like to celebrate your safe return.”

James smiled down at the hen-like woman, who moved so quickly between her tasks that she was something of a blur. It was nice to be missed. After he overheard Aoife tell Elizabeth how much the staff cared for him, he was surprised that he did not see it sooner. Something warm and content settled into his belly and he wasn’t sure if it was the soothing tea or his happiness at being home. “That sounds delightful, Mrs. Reynolds, thank you. Will you have one of the girls cut some of those pink roses from the garden for Mrs. Norrington and set them at the table?”

Mrs. Reynolds fairly beamed. “Very thoughtful of you, sir. I certainly shall.”

He retired to the study with his tea, humming in contentment as he sank into his favorite chair—it was now much more Elizabeth’s chair than his, truthfully, as he kept finding long golden hairs embedded in the cushions and on his person. He picked up his copy of _The London Gazette _(at least a month out of date, of course) and turned to the news section. He settled against the cushion and propped his boots up on the footrest, warm and relaxed in the early morning sunlight, as content as any cat who has found a particularly excellent sunbeam.

Mrs. Reynolds dropped off some scones and cold meats with him by the time he finished the paper. He thanked her and stood, examining the bookshelves with a critical eye as he munched on a blueberry scone. The books in his once impeccably ordered library were rather jammed in together, thanks to Elizabeth’s considerable additions. He found he mostly didn’t mind, although he frowned when he saw creases forming in the spine of his copy of Hakluyt’s _The Principall Navigations _because it was crammed next to a rather large pirate adventure novel. He ended up selecting some of Donne’s poetry to browse, which kept him occupied until lunchtime.

The clattering of hooves startled him from his pleasant reverie. He looked out the window onto the sprawling lawn in time to see his wife riding up the grassy knoll towards the manor, perched high above the rest of the world on Adao’s back. He smiled, unable to stop himself. She was not riding sidesaddle, he could see that even from here, and he chuckled at the expressions the town matrons must have made when they saw her. He could not see her face, obscured as it was by her sun bonnet and the distance between them, and he wondered idly where she had gone.

He surprised her at the stables. She had her back turned to him when she dismounted. She procured an apple from one of the pockets in her dress and fed it to Adao, patting him affectionately on the flank. When had the two of them become so close? She must have practiced riding when he was unaware; she seemed much less afraid of horses now.

Adao whinnied when he saw his master, effectively ruining James’ surprise, but the enormous smile on Elizabeth’s face was worth it. She followed Adao’s gaze and she beamed when she saw him. “James! I did not expect you home so soon! Are you quite sure you should be out and about? I—”

Hastily, he closed the distance between the two of them and reached for her, capturing her mouth with his. If she was annoyed at being interrupted mid-sentence, she did not express it. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his and teased him with her tongue. He smiled against her mouth, forgoing propriety for once to kiss her with all the ardor he had suppressed all these years.

_Mine_, he thought as he caressed her rosebud mouth. _My Elizabeth. My wife._

She pulled away from him with a gentle smile, cradling his face in her hands. “How are you feeling?” She asked him fondly, examining him closely.

“Quite well,” he answered, and it was mostly truthful. His head only ached a little. Although he suspected that was mostly because he had been asked that question--how are you feeling?--so often these past few days.

Her nimble little fingers reached for his cravat and whisked it loose. When he held out his hand for it, amused at her teasing, she slipped out of his grasp. “You were looking rather feverish,” she informed him by way of explanation. “Quite warm in all those layers.”

“How thoughtful of you,” he commented dryly, unable to contain his smile at her giddy laugh.

Her cheeks flushed with exercise and the warmth of the day. “I trust you know that your health is always of the utmost importance to me,” she said as she stepped closer and ran her hands appreciatively over his chest. Her touch trailed off at his trim waist and she looked up at him coyly. “Although a more _thorough_ examination might be in order.” She raised her eyebrows mischievously. 

He stared down at her, certain that he was unable to hide the blush that spread from his forehead to his neck. Evidently his reaction pleased her, because she gave him a devious smile and said innocently, “But I suppose that can wait until after dinner. I am quite famished!” She gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek and pressed something into his hand. “This is for you. I am going to bathe now. See you then.”

With a wink, she spun on her heel and trotted up to the house, golden waves springing out chaotically from her sun bonnet.

James stared after her, frowning. “Well, I don’t know what that was about, old boy,” he confided to his horse, who only nuzzled at him, hoping for more apples. “But she seems to be in a better mood than she was yesterday.” Normally a stable boy would have come and unsaddled the horse and led him back to his stall, but James could use the distraction. That playful look in Elizabeth’s eyes puzzled and intrigued him.

With that chore done, he regarded the gift Elizabeth had given him: it was a lovely, crisp printing of _Beowulf _bound in blue morocco. He was more than a little surprised—how did she know that he enjoyed medieval literature? Well, she had spent a fair bit of time in their study; perhaps she was better acquainted with his tastes than he thought. Either way, he was touched. He tucked it into his breast coast pocket and headed inside.

Dinner was a thoroughly pleasant affair. The pork roast was delicious; the brandy was excellent; and Elizabeth was touched by the roses, accepting them for the peace offering that they were meant to be.

Elizabeth herself was a vision. Her hair was freshly oiled; her soft skin powdered and scented with lilac; she wore a new dress of dark blue accented with gold—_his_ colors. He did not miss that little detail, and the gesture warmed him. How well she looked, how queenly. If he hadn’t already been in love with her…his thoughts must have shown plainly on his face, because she looked unbearably smug, preening like a peacock. As the servants began to clear away their dishes, Elizabeth wasted no time in scooping up the bottle of brandy in one hand and grabbing his right hand with the other. “Come on,” she said in a husky voice, and he followed her without question, intrigued.

She took the steps two at a time, moving with a singularly agile grace until she arrived at the landing. He was close behind her and reached for her again, but she stepped out of range, the richly textured fabric of her dress swirling around her like the sea.

Nimble as a gazelle, she danced down the hallway to their shared bedroom, laughing merrily.

James swallowed. He began to realize what it was that she wanted. He had suspected but then she was a merciless tease…he had been afraid to hope. He wanted her _so badly. _He almost didn't dare to think that she would reciprocate that desire._  
_

When he cautiously entered their shared bedroom, she sat at the end of their bed, as prim and proper as can be, but with an undeniably mischievous expression on her face. She had set the brandy down on the small table on his side of the bed and closed the windows, so the room was a little stuffy…although he wasn’t sure if he was imagining that part or not.

He slowly closed the door behind him and doffed his hat, holding it in front of him with a combination of uncertainty and amusement. “You are certainly in high spirits,” he commented. “I hope you haven’t had too much brandy.”

She scoffed. “_I_ have barely touched the stuff. I brought it because I know _you _like it. And because you seem nervous around me.” Those beautiful coffee-colored eyes pinned him to the wall and her words hit him in the chest like a blow.

Slightly irritated by that comment, he beat back a blush and remarked, “Exactly what do I have to be nervous about, may I ask?”

Elizabeth grinned like a cat that had got into the cream. She stood up and circled him like a hawk observing its prey. He could not see her as she moved behind him; he faced forward, deliberately neutral and uninterested, but he could feel that inquisitive gaze roving over his form. She didn’t answer him, however. She came to a stop in front of him and folded her hands behind her back, imitating his stance.

He raised an eyebrow and looked at her expectantly.

“Could you be a dear and help me out of this dress? I asked Aoife not to tie the stays so tight, but she likes to vex me sometimes.” She lifted up her hair and turned away from him, not waiting for his response.

So confident, his Elizabeth.

He took a breath to steady himself—she was right, he _was _nervous, but he would not give her the satisfaction of confirming it. With careful, measured movements, he plucked at the ivory ribbons holding the stays together. It was a damnable piece of work, whalebone or something, and he didn’t blame her for wanting out of it—that is, he wouldn’t blame her if he wasn’t so sure that this little exercise was designed precisely to unsettle him. Well, they would see who came out on top when all this was over. He did enjoy a challenge.

She sighed in relief and stretched, arcing those hips back towards him as she popped her back before remarking offhandedly, “Thank you, James. You’ve been most helpful.” He reached out to grab those damnable hips but she spun around and neatly took the stays from his hands, bustling over to the armoire to put them away for the evening.

He almost swore under his breath. She knew _exactly_ what she was doing.

He decided to test her a little, as well.

He slipped behind her, ensnaring her narrow waist with one long arm as she put away the garment. He pressed his lips into the hollow of her neck, murmuring, “What sort of game are you playing, Elizabeth?”

She huffed out a laugh and turned around in his arms, planting her hands on her hips. Without the stays, she looked much more relaxed, more touchable. Though she looked stunning in formal attire, he enjoyed seeing her like this. She cocked her head to the side and observed him with a sly smile. “Game?” She repeated innocently. “I’m not sure what you mean.” She moved to slide past him, but his arm tightened around her and his other hand stretched out to the open door of the armoire, effectively trapping her.

But she didn’t seem displeased. If anything, her smile grew wider.

Who was toying with who here?

“You have been acting oddly all day,” he pointed out, planting a single kiss on the pulse point of her neck. Even that light touch made her pulse flutter under his mouth, and he was gratified that she was not as put together as she tried to appear. Perhaps she was nervous, too. “Although I must thank you for the book. It was very thoughtful.” He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, pulling back when that wicked tongue darted out to tease him.

Not to be distracted, Elizabeth’s arms curled around his neck, pulling him closer. He reached behind her and shut the little doors of the armoire, pressing her against it just a little. “Not at all, James,” she replied in that lilting voice that always preceded mischief. “It gave me a chance to go through your books and see what titles you lacked. I was quite intrigued by some of the medical texts I found.”

_Oh dear_. “Elizabeth, those were…from a friend…I studied under the ship’s surgeon as a midshipman for a time—” But his excuses fell on entirely unsympathetic ears.

“Oh yes, I know,” she interrupted merrily, flashing those pearly white teeth triumphantly. “I did enjoy reading your little notes in the margins…all those curious questions a young boy might have about the human form.” Her eyes twinkled, her voice dipping a bit on _human form_. 

James’ entire face burned. He closed his eyes, resisting the urge to rub his temples. “You are incorrigible,” he managed dryly, his tone at odds with the heat in his blood.

She really had no shame, that one.

“You don’t seem to mind,” Elizabeth practically purred, running her hands over his chest and tugging him down for another embrace—this kiss was not as chaste as the previous one. “And you know, going through all those books…I was thinking that with all _my_ education, there is one area in my life of which I know tragically little, and James…” She paused.

“Yes?” He managed in a slightly strained voice. Did she intend to kill him with all this teasing? They had done little more than kissing and he could already feel himself becoming hard.

Their little room was dark now—they had not even bothered to light a candle—but her eyes glittered with an unmistakable fervor. “I think you would be a _wonderful_ teacher,” she murmured just a few inches from his mouth and his head spun.

James scooped her up in his arms then, and the armoire _thumped _against the wall as he leaned down to kiss her, coaxing those plump lips apart. She hummed against him in pleasure and wrapped her legs around his waist and he thought for the second time in as many moments that he was going to die. Thankfully, there was quite a bit of cloth between them, but the feeling of those strong legs wrapped around him was intoxicating, _much_ more potent than the brandy.

“What would you like to know?” He panted against her, pausing to graze his teeth from underneath her chin to her collarbone.

She shuddered. “_Everything_.”

His blood sang in his veins at her words. But they were going to do this properly, so he shifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

She crossed her legs at the foot of the bed and sat up, giggling and grinning at him impishly. “I had rather hoped you were going to take me against the armoire. I’m sure the entire household heard it knock against the wall.”

James refused to be deterred by her teasing, however, and sank to his knees in front of her. He took her left ankle in his hands and slid his digits along her slender calf, admiring the sheen of her stockings. “I have imagined this more times than I can say,” he confessed, wetting his lips, which suddenly felt very dry. Her laughter abruptly stopped and he looked up, worried that he had done something wrong. “Is this alright?” His fingers paused over the hem of her garter, unwilling to take things further than she would allow.

Elizabeth bent forward slightly and took his chin in her right hand, searching his face for something—he didn’t know what. He swallowed and he was sure she felt it; her confidence was just so damn arousing. And this from a woman he supposed to be a virgin! “Don’t stop,” she commanded softly.

“As you say,” he murmured, and carefully peeled the first stocking from her leg, taking the time to run his hands along the length of her limbs. She was a very slender woman, perhaps too slender for others’ tastes, but to James she appeared as beautiful as a brand-new ship-of-the-line: agile, graceful, perfect. He did not hide his admiration as he examined her legs. They were pale, as most ladies’ were, but sprayed with rebellious freckles from years past that refused to fade. He slipped his hand under her left knee and pulled her closer, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against her lower thigh, smirking when she inhaled sharply through her teeth. He may have been on his knees in front of her, and she may have been the one issuing orders, but there was no doubt in his mind that _he_ was in charge here. She would see—and she would enjoy it. He was certain of that.

He made quick work of the other one, folding the stockings neatly and placing them on the footrest at the end of the bed. Slowly, he rose to his feet and tugged at the bell-shaped sleeves, coaching them from her narrow shoulders. He pressed a kiss to one particularly endearing freckle and removed the stomacher in the same breath. Her bodice hung open now, the outline of her breasts quite visible beneath the translucent chemise.

Elizabeth looked up at him from the bed, no sign of trepidation on her lovely face.

When James was still very young, perhaps six or seven, his mother had taken him with her to visit a friend in Dorchester. The lady’s home was quite unremarkable except for a single painting that caught his attention and haunted his memories for years: a portrait of a woman—Circe, he learned later—staring boldly at the viewer, lips slightly parted, eyebrows lifted in challenge. She was so full of life, so compelling, that he wanted to reach out and touch the canvas to see if she was, indeed, real. But he hadn’t dared. She was a world away but even so, she held him captive, spellbound.

He felt similarly in this warm little room, lightheaded with Elizabeth's perfume and his own rapid, shallow breathing. He didn’t dare partake in that beauty then, but now…

Slowly, but with a growing certainty, he removed the bodice and lifted the chemise. She raised her arms above her head willingly, shimmying like a goddess in some ancient ritual. He slipped his free arm around her waist, pressing kisses against her hair, her neck, her shoulder. She sighed and moved his hand up to her bare breast, calm and assured.

He breathed deeply when he took the hardened nipple between his finger and thumb and massaged the sensitive skin, gratified at the little mewl she made. His patience was wearing already and he had yet to see her _there._

Carefully, he knelt before her again and slid the sheer drawers from her rounded thighs.

Now Elizabeth was at last naked before him, but she didn’t seem the least bit self-conscious. She watched him with growing impatience as he studied her bare form and quipped, “Are you going to stare all night?”

He shifted his body so that he knelt between her legs and ran a hand up her left leg, tracing the contours from her ankle to her hip. She shuddered and a ghost of a smile flickered over his lips. “I mean to _appreciate_ you,” he responded, the slightly uneven tone of his voice betraying the maddening heartbeat in his chest. “Such things take time.” He kissed her knee, his fingers dancing across her stomach teasingly, drifting near her inner thighs but not touching her there, not yet.

She huffed and began, “James…”

His thumb brushed her center, the lightest of touches, but she gasped as if he had struck her. “James,” she said again, this time a bit breathlessly. “I…”

He reached up and kissed that impatient mouth, murmuring, “You wanted me to teach you.” He gently slipped a single finger inside her and sighed at the moisture that coated his skin. She cried out against his lips, her hips jerking instinctively at his touch. He knew he was driving her mad with all his teasing, but he could not bring himself to hurry, even for his own gratification. Having her at his mercy was simply too intoxicating. He crooked his finger and she whined, frustrated and uncertain of what to expect but wanting more. “So let me teach you.” He slipped a second finger inside and ran his tongue between her lips as she cried out again, much louder this time.

James’ movements were careful, deliberate. She was new to this and he didn’t want to hurt her. Her hips began to move, seemingly without her being aware of it, and he smiled, pleased. He opened his eyes, pulling away from her just a little, and was gratified at what he saw:

Lavender eyelids closed in pleasure, a panting red mouth, those beautiful white shoulders rising and falling rapidly with her increased breathing. Naked before him, she was as radiant as the dawn and almost as blinding.

He placed open mouth kisses down her neck to her stomach, enjoying the way she squirmed underneath his touches. She reached for him but he caught her wrist neatly, kissing the fluttering pulse.

“I want to touch you,” she murmured, her voice higher than usual with need. “Please? I need to feel you.”

He shuddered at her words, feeling his cock pressing insistently against his breeches. But he wanted to make this good for her—even now, when he had only touched her a little, he felt like the gentlest touch from her would make him lose any control he had. “Soon,” he promised her.

She threw her head back and sighed heavily but that quickly turned to a shocked groan when he nestled his head between her thighs to taste her.

Her hands fisted in his hair as he pressed a kiss to her lower lips and she exclaimed, “What…is this…”

He looked up at her and into those wide dark eyes, electrifying in their intensity. “Is this alright?” He asked her.

“Yes, but…” She gasped again as he kissed her deeply, savoring the taste of her on his tongue. “I thought…I thought…” She struggled to form a sentence and he chuckled.

“You thought what?” He asked gently.

“I didn’t know people did this,” she admitted. He knew that must have frustrated her--she liked to know _everything_. “I—” Her words broke off in a cry as he sucked at the sensitive skin of her clitoris, humming his contentment. The slight vibration made her _wail_—he could not look up at her in this position, but he could imagine her expression and he felt ravenous. He shifted her body forward so that her thighs rested on his shoulders and her legs trailed down his back. 

He lapped at her hungrily, groaning when he felt her nails rake over his scalp as she tried to maintain control. But he wouldn’t have that. As her thighs trembled around him, he withdrew his mouth briefly to slip two fingers inside her and thrust, firmly. He wanted to see her completely undone.

It didn’t take long. She came with a shout and he looked up at her in wonder. She towered over him from his position on the floor, quivering and struggling to catch her breath. Her open mouth gasped in lungfuls of air; her eyelids fluttered as she came back to herself from that heavenly plateau. When her eyes opened and focused fully, they settled on him with such feverish intensity that he wondered, not for the first time, if she was more of a goddess than a person.

She reached for him and this time he let her pull her up from his knees and onto the bed with her. Clumsily, they fell together and tangled in the sheets. When she laughed at their awkward but eager bodies tumbling together, James closed his eyes in bliss, overjoyed that _he _was the one to make her laugh.

She scrambled on top of him, pinning his body into the bed. Her bare body hovered just over him, and he could feel her warmth even through his clothes. To his shock, she rubbed her center against his breeches, as randy as a midshipman on shore leave for the first time.

She cackled at his scandalized expression. “Well, I don’t know what you are looking at me like that for, given your recent activities,” she admonished gleefully, running her hands over his chest, popping buttons as she went. “I should very much like to return the favor. I want to _feel_ you, James.” She looked down at him, those lovely eyes hooded with want and anticipation. She ran her fingers down to his stomach, circling, waiting.

James’ mouth went dry at the thought of her hands, her lips, on his cock. “I can assure you, that is not necessary,” he managed weakly, his cock twitching impatiently against the cloth.

“_Not necessary_,” Elizabeth mimicked in a silly imitation of his voice and reached for him again, but this time he shifted her so that she lay under him.

“It is not necessary because if you touch me right now, I don’t think I can manage to make love to you the way you deserve,” he whispered hoarsely against her ears, sucking at the soft skin of her neck as he pinned her down with the weight of his body.

She gasped and arched under him and he decided that she was ready.

Quickly, he peeled off his outer clothes, discarding them without the care that he reserved for her garments.

He hovered above her, both of them naked at last, and watched with interest as her eyes took in every inch of him.

“You are beautiful,” she breathed in a low voice, and at last there was no teasing in it. She sounded..._worshipful. _

He felt self-conscious for the first time and rather vulnerable—he had anticipated this night for so long and he wanted everything to be right for her. But the way she looked at him…he felt bare in a way that had nothing to do with his nakedness. It was as if Elizabeth Swann Norrington looked past his body and into his soul, and liked what she found.

“I love you, James,” she said quietly, running a hand along his cheek. He closed his eyes and pressed a kiss into her palm. “Make love to me?”

He paused for a heartbeat. “It may hurt a little,” he said apologetically. “If you’ve never…” He trailed off. Truthfully, he assumed she was a virgin, like most newly married women, but he had never asked. It was not uncommon for a maid to have some experience and he was no blushing virgin, himself. Such a question was beneath them and her answer would not have changed the way he felt about her, propriety be damned.

She smiled softly. “I haven’t,” she confessed. “But I would very much like to experience that with you, James.” Her hand snaked down between them and stroked his cock, and it took every ounce of self-control he had not to spend in her small, certain hand.

He hovered over her beautiful body, his cock waiting at the entrance between her thighs. “You are sure?” It was entirely possible that he would die if he did not know what she felt like, but he would not take anything from her that she did not offer freely.

With a groan, she nipped at his lips. “_Yes_.”

Well.

There was only so much that a man could take.

He slid inside her, slowly, his entire body relaxing even as hers tensed a little around his.

“Alright?” He asked softly, pressing kisses into her hair.

“Yes,” she managed shakily, running her hands along his spine.

He shivered and withdrew before thrusting into her again. She felt…indescribable. He had been with women before, but never…never a woman that he loved. This…this was like nothing he had ever experienced. She felt so hot and wet around him, and those desperate hands scrabbling for purchase on him were driving him wild.

Another thrust, and this time her reaction was more favorable. Her nails bit into the skin of his back and she moaned, just a tiny bit, but it was enough to make him shudder. She wrapped her legs around him and he swore as she pulled him deeper inside her body.

He moved as gently as he could, but with growing confidence, as her shaky breaths began to sound more guttural. He propped himself up on his elbows but managed to reach between them and circle her clitoris with practiced fingers, swallowing her startled cry of pleasure with his kisses.

His hips moved faster as he sought his own release, their sweat-glistened bodies moving furiously together as she began the rhythm that she needed. Her body began to tense around his again and he rasped against the pink shell of her ear, “Come for me, Elizabeth. Come for me, darling.” 

And with a few more calculated touches, she did. She gasped and writhed beneath him and when he knew he was about to come, he withdrew from her with a groan, spraying his seed onto her stomach.

Elizabeth smiled up at him lazily and though he wanted to come inside her, he knew he had made the right decision. They had not talked about children yet and he did not want to worry her with a pregnancy.

She pulled him down for a long, lingering kiss, sighing against his mouth, seemingly impervious to the sweat that coated both of their bodies.

James wanted nothing more than to collapse next to her and bury his face in the crook of her neck, but he made himself wait. He carefully extracted himself from the tangled mess of their bed, ignoring her protests, and went to fetch a small towel from his cabinet. Gingerly, he dabbed at the mess on her body, deposited the rag in a small waste basket, and slipped back into bed beside her.

She curled up against him, snuggling against his back. She sighed against his skin, content and sleepy.

He would have preferred to hold her but this was rather nice, he mused, as her legs tangled with his. It made him feel…wanted. It was a luxury he had never though to claim for himself.

“I love you,” he whispered against the rumpled sheets, not daring to move in case she was already dozing.

But she squeezed his midsection with a freckled arm and pressed a kiss to his shoulder blades, murmuring, “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me longer than usual to write this chapter and for the first time, I find myself rather hesitant to post it. What if it isn't good enough? What if it seems forced? I really struggled with writing this section but I think I am finally satisfied with it...I just want it to be an enjoyable read for y'all, y'all have stayed with this story for twelve chapters (!!!) now and...yeah. Thank you for sticking with me.
> 
> P.S. I am aware that the "pull-out" method for p/v sex is not very effective but for this moment, we shall pretend that it is. I've been researching 18th century birth control methods (as one does) so Elizabeth may address that later.
> 
> Side note: you can probably make a drinking game for every time I use "Elizabeth" and "mischief" in the same sentence and get enjoyably drunk. I do love that girl *heart eyes*


	13. Incorrigible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Obi-wan voice* This is not the plot you are looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once, I decided to only check this twice before posting it. I’m sure I will find lots of minor tweaks to fix in the morning. Still, I hope you enjoy the update.

Elizabeth awoke slowly, reluctantly. The warm body under her hands didn’t stir as she blinked and began to sit up in the decadently soft bed. She felt a little sore, but it was no worse than the feeling after riding a horse for several hours.

She looked down at James, lying beside her with his face turned away. She could barely see his features for the curtain of hair obscuring his shoulders and neck. He really did have such lovely hair. Her fingers flexed as she recalled tugging, not so gently, on those fine, dark brown locks when his mouth was occupied between her legs.

Her James, capable of such lewd acts. Who would have known?

A smile tugged at her mouth. She had imagined making love before. Many times, in fact. For years, it had been with Will, of course. Especially as a teenager, she had spent many sleepless nights imagining his rough caresses all over her body. She had also spent many fruitless hours trying to goad him into exploring their bodies together, but he had blushed and steadfastly refused with a demurred, “It wouldn’t be right, Miss Swann…”

Once or twice, it had been James in those dreams, but she had always awoken with a strange feeling…as if she was doing something she shouldn’t be. Elizabeth was not one for guilt, so she had dismissed it. James was handsome, after all—that was the one thing that had never confused her regarding their relationship. But now she wondered if perhaps she had deliberately overlooked her more sentimental feelings for him before. It seemed a moot point, at any rate. Beckett had not been by to poke his nose into their affairs in a month and the rest of the city seemed perfectly pleased with their marriage. What did it matter if it had taken them—well, alright, perhaps it was just her—a little while to catch on? Everything worked out in the end.

She smiled at her husband tenderly, trailing her fingers along a muscled forearm.

She regretted it, because he stirred immediately, of course, alert military man that he was. Bright verdant eyes, heavy with sleep, looked up at her mildly.

Overcome with affection, she leaned down to kiss him right on his confused mouth. “Good morning,” she said sweetly, unable to keep a fond smile from her face.

His eyes widened as he came to and he stretched up to meet her, surprising her by cradling her face and parting her lips with his tongue. “Elizabeth,” he murmured softly, and the reverence in his tone made her heart stutter a little. “You’re still here.”

Elizabeth frowned a tiny bit at that. “And where else would I be?” She asked, a little crossly. “Are you so keen to throw me over already?”

He pulled away a little and gave her a sheepish smile. “I thought last night might have been a dream,” he confessed, a trace of pink coloring his pale face.

Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from smiling, but he had already seen.

“You’re having a laugh at me,” he accused her, narrowing his eyes. He bristled a little, but there was mirth behind it, too, like a cat preparing to pounce.

Bright, giddy laughter bubbled up in her throat and she was unable to stop it. “Yes,” she agreed, pushing him away playfully. “Yes, I am, you ridiculous man.”

He seized her hand from his chest and pulled her into his lap, silencing her giggles by kissing her thoroughly.

“I am not used to this kind of insubordination,” he grumbled at her, his voice still heavy with sleep.

Elizabeth wore only a light cotton shift while James was entirely naked; her sudden proximity to him made her keenly aware of his early morning arousal. That, combined with the wonderfully low timbre of his voice, caused her to shiver a little, nuzzling against his neck. “It isn’t insubordination if the remark comes from your superior,” she murmured into the warm skin between his shoulder and his chin.

James barked out a laugh at that and she beamed against his flesh, delighted as always at hearing that candid, surprised sound. It was quick and fleeting, like a sudden flight of tropical birds from a tree. She treasured every laugh that he let her hear. His arms tightened around her waist as he pressed kisses against her neck and shoulder. “Indeed? And how many years have _you_ served in the Navy?”

He was teasing her, but his lips pulled back to reveal a hint of teeth against her neck. Her witty reply evaporated into a gasp as she managed, “Well, I had several months' experience serving on the _Dauntless_ on a trans-Atlantic trip, if you’ll—ah!—recall.” She jolted against him as he nipped at her, squeezing her hips just a little.

He huffed out a laugh against her skin as he laid her against the soft sheets of the bed. “You are incorrigible,” he said dryly, his face completely neutral except for his eyes, which fairly shone with affection. She beamed up at him. That was becoming one of her favorite words. Incorrigible. She rather liked the sound of it.

“So come kiss your incorrigible wife and then take her to breakfast,” she replied, looping her arms around his neck and raising an eyebrow suggestively.

He was only too happy to oblige.

* * *

The next few days passed in a happy blur. If James was a good teacher, Elizabeth was an excellent student. And she delighted in her lessons, even more so in surpassing his expectations.

One of her greatest joys lay in ambushing him when he occasionally returned to the manor on his lunch hour. Hiding in wait after a particularly boring morning, she watched through a crack in the closet nearest to the doorway as he let himself in and placed his hat on the coat rack/hatstand. He looked around for her shortly but seemed to decide to head to the dining room for some lunch and a spot of tea. When he turned his back to her hiding place, Elizabeth slipped out silently—she had greased the door hinges with margarine earlier that week—and walked behind him on the tips of her toes, until he was almost to the dining room. She pounced, throwing her arms around his neck, enjoying his startled cry as he spun about, trying to dislodge his sudden guest.

“Elizabeth, what in God’s name are you doing?” He spluttered. She couldn’t see his face but she imagined it was that delightful combination of annoyance and amusement. Nevertheless, he slipped his arms under her knees, supporting her.

She didn’t reply, just pressed open-mouthed kisses to his neck.

He sighed heavily and gently jostled her free. She slid down his back reluctantly and he turned to face her, looking down at her with a bemused expression. “I think you might benefit from taking up embroidery or the like,” he tutted, folding his arms across his chest as if he were terribly inconvenienced. But she knew better by now.

She laced her fingers behind her back and beamed up at him. “Hmm...I don't care much for embroidery, but I have been practicing my sword form. And sometimes Mrs. Reynolds will let me help her bake.” James blanched, and she reached out and pinched him. “It wasn’t so bad,” she said defensively, recalling the previous week when she had tried to surprise him with blueberry scones, which were more salt than anything. “I just get bored when you are away.” She splayed her hands over his chest and slowly began to run them down towards his waist. “We never got to have a proper honeymoon, you know.” She looked up at him carefully through her eyelashes, waiting for the inevitable blush to suffuse his proud features.

He grabbed her hands when they threatened to move lower than his waist, and laughed apologetically. “That may be true, but I didn’t think you would want one at the time,” he admitted, smiling to soften the impact of his words.

It stung, but Elizabeth knew he did not mean to hurt her. He had wanted to respect her boundaries in the early days of her marriage—it was one of the things that made her trust him, even before she loved him. “I think I would like one now,” she said coquettishly, standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. “What do you say?” She murmured against his mouth. “Let’s go back to the island. Take some time off from work.”

James kissed her back fervently but pulled back far too soon with a heavy sigh. “Elizabeth, you don’t really get ‘time off’ in the Navy,” he said, bringing her hand up to his lips and then holding it against his cheek, regarding her with no small amount of amusement.

“Very well, I’ll get Groves involved,” she fired back, determined to see this new idea through.

James blinked, startled. He looked almost angry for a moment, but then he burst into laughter. “A dastardly plan,” he conceded, his eyes twinkling merrily in the most endearing way. “You have an uncanny knack for finding an opponent’s weaknesses, Mrs. Norrington. An almost supernatural one.”

She smiled smugly. “I’m glad you see things my way,” she said sweetly. “I didn’t want to get Gillette involved, as he doesn’t much care for me. Groves is the more chaotic of the two of them, anyway.”

James scowled. “What's this about Gillette? He doesn’t like you? Why not?”

He looked so perfectly indignant that she giggled. Truthfully, James was not much better than her father in this regard—they might huff and sigh at her antics but they were incapable of seeing any shortcomings in her, and were irritated that not everyone felt the same way.

“He was the one who locked me in the brig on our last adventure,” she reminded him pointedly. “We had some words…and he has not forgiven me for Isla de Muerta.” She sobered a little at that. Truthfully, she didn’t blame Gillette for feeling that way at all, and she wasn’t inclined to care about his opinion of her one way or the other—except that she knew James esteemed him and for that reason, she would’ve liked to be on more amiable terms.

“It wasn’t the brig, it was your father’s quarters,” James corrected, flushing. “I—I would never—I was only trying to protect you—” Before he could proceed with a tedious explanation of how he always had her best interests in mind, she pulled him down for another kiss.

This time, she did not intend to let him go so easily. She backed him up against the large double doors of the manor entrance, pressing herself flush against his body. He made a sort of strangled sound in the back of his throat that only encouraged her antics. She parted his lips with her tongue and wove her fingers through his hair, burrowing under the rough texture of his powdered wig.  
He tried to speak, but she wouldn’t have it. When he opened his mouth further to protest, she nipped at his lower lip, tugging just a little.

He growled and the sound made her stomach swoop. “Elizabeth,” he managed to get out around her attacks.

“Yes,” she agreed, placing an open-mouthed kiss just below his jawline and sucking at the skin, running her tongue along the slight stubble.

He swore and placed his hands on her hips, firmly anchoring her to the ground. She tried to rise on her tiptoes again to kiss him, but he did not relinquish her. He pressed a finger to her lips and said firmly, “If you are determined to ravish me in the middle of the day, you will at least do me the courtesy of going to the bedroom first.”

Elizabeth ran her tongue between her lips, looking up at him with a challenge clearly written upon her face, her chin tilted up just so. “Or what?” She replied softly, feeling the blood hum in her veins. She couldn’t resist; she _had_ to challenge him.

James regarded her with a completely blank expression that rather startled her. Then his eyes flitted about the entryway, carefully sweeping the area in a distinctly hawk-like manner. Seeing that it was empty, he turned his sharp gaze back to her.

She wondered then if she had made a mistake.

Quick as a flash, he bent before her, neatly scooping her up and lifting her over his left shoulder. Elizabeth let out a surprised sound that was halfway between a laugh and a gasp but he was already moving towards the staircase, at a pace that was even quicker than his usual stride. Perhaps he didn’t want to be caught by his servants with his young wife over his shoulder. The mental image of Mrs. Reynolds’ astonished face came to mind before she could stop it and she burst out laughing.

It wasn’t the most comfortable trip up the stairs—she couldn’t exactly move and his muscled shoulder was digging into her stomach—but she was so amused that she had pushed James to such an extreme reaction that she couldn’t be too vexed.

He took the stairs as quickly as he could without jostling her too much and then they were in the hallway and he was not-so-gently opening the door with a determined boot.

“What has gotten into you?” She exclaimed, laughing again, but her laughter evaporated when they made it into the bedroom and he pressed her down on the bed without so much as a by-your-leave.

James snatched up her wrists and pressed a kiss to each of them before pinning them above her head. She watched with interest as he settled himself above her, the two of them still fully clothed. His gaze was intense and despite herself, she shivered a little.

“You are full of surprises today,” was all she managed before his mouth was on hers, kissing her deeply. She moaned a little and writhed against his grip, aching to put her arms around his neck, but he didn’t relent. He lowered his grip to her elbows instead so he could move down her body, teasing her sensitive skin with open-mouthed kisses. Carefully, he reached into the loose folds of her bodice and gown, pushing the fabric down around her shoulders. When he took a nipple into his mouth, she cried out, arching her back.

“I can hardly focus at work,” he admonished her, grazing the sensitive bud with just a hint of teeth. “All I can think of is the sounds you make when we are together, the way your mouth feels against mine. I think you have ruined me for any kind of work at all, really.” He sucked again, hard, and she jerked against his mouth, mewling. He cupped her breasts, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. “What are you doing to me?” He murmured against her neck. The hot breath on her skin made her shudder.

With her hands now free, she unpinned his wig and tossed it across the room before greedily running her hands through his locks, quickly freeing the strands from their queue. She ran her hands over his shoulders, relishing the hard outline of his body under his fine uniform. One hand looped around his neck, pulling him in for another kiss, as another snaked down between his legs.  
He inhaled sharply and she smirked, practically humming with smugness. Although he was still clothed in those admirably tight breeches, she could feel his arousal against the inside of her thigh.

The idea of tumbling into bed with James during the day was exciting enough—they had only made love by candlelight before, but that was mostly because James did not come home during the day. Seeing him like this—fully clothed, panting, a healthy flush on his features, in need of her touch—was undeniably erotic. And…she pulled away to admire the fine military braid on his shoulders, the buttons that gleamed in the mid-afternoon sun...She licked her lips appreciatively as she examined him fully.

With nimble fingers, Elizabeth popped open the buttons of his breeches and took him in hand, stroking his growing erection. James closed his eyes against her touch and pressed his face into the crook of her neck, his breathing already a little erratic. And that was enjoyable. But she wanted more. She wanted him completely undone.

She ran her thumb over his sensitive head and whispered into his ear, “Fuck me like this.”

James made a curious sound, almost like he was choking, and pulled away to look at her. “What…” He began helplessly.

As if he didn't understand her. He knew perfectly well what she wanted.

Using her free hand, she hiked up her frock around her hips and placed her ankles neatly on top of his shoulders. “Like this,” she repeated. “Take my drawers off, and then f—”

James groaned and leaned down to swallow her words. The hand that wasn’t planted next to her head slipped down to stroke the sheer fabric between her legs. “Christ,” he mumbled, and she was pleased that she did not have to argue her case any further. She thought he would have fought her, saying that this was improper, but she was pleasantly surprised. “As you command,” he finally managed.

She laughed at that, giddy with emotion and arousal—she did love to command him. He whisked her drawers off and held her gaze for a painfully long moment before thrusting into her.

Elizabeth groaned at the sensation, one hand fisting in the fabric of his jacket as the other one trailed up her chest to pinch one of her breasts.

James stared down at her feverishly, slack-jawed. “You are a siren,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “That you would let me do this—” He gestured to the deliciously improper scenario before him. She was aware that he probably came from a family where sex was a purely practical activity, intended to produce children and nothing else. As new as she was to sex herself, she certainly didn’t share that sentiment and she relished testing his ideas of what was and wasn’t proper.

Elizabeth tugged him forward with her ankles against his shoulders, pulling him deeper into her body. “Harder,” she said harshly.

James closed his eyes as if in agony, but obeyed, sliding out of her at an agonizing pace before slamming back into her.

She cried out and moved her legs down to his hips so she could sit up against the pillows somewhat and kiss him fully, cradling his face in her hands. How she wished she could watch the two of them move together. She resolved to have a standing mirror placed near the bed for another time. She couldn’t wait to see James’ reaction to _that_.

It was the first time that they had really, truly fucked. Before, it had been tender love-making and they had collapsed in each other’s arms before drifting off into sleep. And Elizabeth loved that, she did. But this…this was something else entirely and she was relishing every filthy moment of it. She positively _lived_ to see him so disheveled, so wild-eyed and fierce. He brought out something distinctly primal in her.

“James, my James,” she gasped out as he bucked against her, moving more and more quickly. “James, _God_.” Hearing his name on her lips caused him to move even faster and the punishing pace was getting to her. But she didn’t want to wait, not now, not when that fire was building in her abdomen and she wanted nothing more than to come around his cock.

She didn’t even realize that she had said it aloud until he pulled out with a groan and came into his fist, even as he reached down to her center to ensure that she finished, too.

Completely drained, Elizabeth threw her head back into the pillows and looked up at her husband lazily, quite pleased with her handiwork. “You’ll need a change of clothes,” she noted archly, when she had caught her breath. She felt like an Ottoman pasha, surrounded as she was by all of their pillows, regarding him with no small amount of satisfaction. “Can’t go back to the fort with come on your breeches.”

Despite their furious coupling just a moment ago, James actually blushed. She would never tire of scandalizing him. “The things you say…” He said unevenly, shaking his head. Carefully, he slid out of his breeches and went to clean up. She rather enjoyed the view of his muscled ass peeking out from underneath his shirt tail as he walked away from her.

“So is that a yes to the honeymoon?” She called after him, settling her frock back down around her legs, all proper-like.

His laughter rang out to her from across the room. He reappeared swiftly in clean new breeches and shirt and settled down into bed next to her, kissing the crown of her head. “I feel as if I don’t have a choice in the matter, to be perfectly frank,” he confessed.

Elizabeth beamed up at him, tucking a dark strand of hair behind his sweat-lined face. “I was hoping you’d say that,” she replied cheerfully. Her hand stopped at his jaw line and she stared at him seriously for a moment. “You’ll ask?” She said hopefully. “Promise me you will. I’d like to go sailing with you again. Please.”

His responding smile was so tender that tears threatened to prick at the corner of her eyes. He leaned down and kissed her eyelids, as light as a butterfly’s wings against her skin. “I promise,” he murmured. “But I do have to get back now. And you’ve made me miss my lunch.”

Elizabeth smirked. “That will just give you an incentive to come home sooner.”

James laughed, the warm sound reverberating in his chest. “Incorrigible,” he concluded, planting one last kiss on her forehead before heading back to the fort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this story is still active. I'm going to do my best to finish it, even if the quality isn't what I might have hoped for. I can only do so much between work, classes, and being a full-time dog mom.
> 
> I've discovered several new Norribeth fics, which is very exciting--we are a small group so welcome to the new writers! I hope you're enjoying what you've read here so far.
> 
> I actually had decided to move forward with the plot--I have another chapter written already--but as it does contain some......angst......I thought I would pamper y'all a bit first. Oh, and a honeymoon chapter. Yes. It's what we deserve. It is my belated birthday present to myself. If I can't be drinking fruity drinks in paradise with my hot spouse, at least James and Elizabeth can.


	14. I must down to the seas again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This title is taken from one of my favorite poems, which is so strikingly reminiscent of Elizabeth: 
> 
> "Sea Fever", John Masefield (1902).
> 
> I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,  
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;  
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,  
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.
> 
> I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide  
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;  
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,  
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
> 
> I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,  
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;  
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,  
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

The _Charlottenburg_ was a cheerful sight that September evening. The tavern owner was testing out some new fruit-infused mead to celebrate the first cool day they’d had since January and everyone was in very agreeable spirits. The bar was crowded, but not uncomfortably so; sailors from different countries—Dutch, some Chinese, a few Portuguese—guarded their sections cautiously against the uproarious Englishmen, who were already well into their cups at only seven. The dwindling daylight in the evenings marked the approaching autumn, and every table sported a very festive candlestick in the shape of a saucy mermaid or peasant girl, while the windows hung open to let in a refreshing sea breeze from the bay.

“England?” Groves exclaimed. He sat across from James and Gillette, looking absolutely horrified. “Why would you willingly go back to that damp, depressing place?” The foam from his beer sat atop his new mustache, which Groves believed made him look quite dashing. James was not so sure about it.

“Elizabeth requested that we go on a honeymoon,” James explained with a sigh, running his hand through his dark hair absently as he looked at his friend ruefully. “And she’d like to see England. She hasn’t been in over ten years.”

“I’d be happy if I never saw that place again, myself,” Anson remarked in his seat next to James. The burly Scot looked vaguely murderous as he nursed his cognac.

Gillette, ever the patriot, gave him a withering stare. “Perhaps if England is so vile, you should search for a different employer.”

Anson snorted. “Oh, aye, and have the Navy collapse the second I leave it behind? T’would be a bit embarrassing for you lot, eh?” He tossed back his drink and motioned the barkeep for another.

James bit back a smile as he stared contemplatively into the clear glass of gin before him. He felt remarkably content, even though he would have preferred not to go to England. But, as usual, Elizabeth got her way.

He had hoped that would be the end of this conversation but Groves, the canny devil, remarked, “That Atlantic crossing will make for a rough ride, though.” He waggled his eyebrows at the word _ride _and James choked on a sip of his beverage.

“Oh, I bet there’ll be some rough riding, alright,” Anson bellowed. “Groves told me that your lass about threw you overboard when you came home from Hispaniola! Right fighter, that one.”

James resented the three of them as they burst into laughter, even the normally proper Gillette. He massaged the frustrated creases from his forehead, taking a breath to steady himself. He knew that they were only having fun, but he didn’t appreciate them talking about Elizabeth in such a bawdy manner. Perhaps he would have been less sensitive to the matter at hand if the two of them had not recently discovered how much she enjoyed riding him. Well, he enjoyed it too; anything to make her happy. That was all. It had absolutely nothing to do with the way her powerful thighs squeezed around his hips as she thrust against him, a damnably arrogant look on her face as she watched him orgasm.

He cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, please. Perhaps you could attempt to behave in a manner befitting your stations, just this once.”

"What's the occasion?" Groves quipped as Anson roared with laughter, as if that was the most unrealistic notion in the world. It probably was.

“So when do you sail? Would you mind taking some mail with you?” Gillette asked, stepping in to offer his friend a reprieve.

“Early next week,” James replied, sighing. “And yes, Andrew, I’d be happy to take any letters for you. I presume your family is still in Dover?” Gillette nodded.

As the other three men moved to another subject, James mused on the upcoming voyage. Truthfully, it would be…different to have some time alone with Elizabeth. Not exactly relaxing: the idea of being on a ship where he was not issuing orders was rather uncomfortable. But he would enjoy some quiet time with her without work to distract him, which would be pleasant. Seeing his family, though…that was going to be an ordeal, he imagined, but he would never hear the end of it from his mother if they visited England without seeing her. He knew Elizabeth was curious about his family; it wasn’t fair that he had been such an intimate part of hers for the better part of her life, yet she knew almost nothing of his. Still. Thinking about seeing his father and brothers made him grit his teeth. _For Elizabeth_, he resolved.

“Do say hello to the estimable Admiral Norrington for me,” Groves said dryly, raising his mug to James. He knew better than anyone how strained a relationship the two Norringtons had. “Perhaps _he _might behave in a manner befitting his station for once.”

James clinked his glass against Groves' with a wry smile. “I’ll certainly drink to that,” he concurred, swallowing the rest of his gin with a grimace.

* * *

As Elizabeth raced up the gangplank of the ship that was to take them back to England, James reckoned to himself that he really ought to have seen this coming.

The crew gaped at her in astonishment as she dashed past them, darting about the deck joyfully as she inspected every inch of it. “James!” She exclaimed, delighted. “Darling! I’ve found a knot we haven’t seen yet!” She tugged on a bit of rope, to a helmsman’s bewilderment. “What do you call this one?”

James burst out laughing, unable to contain his glee any longer. She was so…_happy_. She unfurled like a plant growing towards the sun. Her joy was infectious. Something deep and unsettling began to take root inside of him, a thought that he wouldn’t fully acknowledge, because then…he would have to face the reality that she could never be happy as merely a housewife on land, tethered to a domestic life she never wanted.

He shook the thought away as if it were a lock of hair in his eyes. “It’s a reef knot,” he noted upon a careful inspection. He passed off their luggage to a cabin boy who had been anxiously hovering behind him, uncertain how to approach him. The boy accepted their belongings and scampered away, clearly intimidated by James. Or perhaps it was Elizabeth that intimidated him. Her sun bonnet was about to declare independence from the rest of her as the wind attempted to snatch it away for the umpteenth time that day. Gently, he untangled it from her hair, letting the glorious waves fly free in the breeze.

She turned and smiled at him, her nose and the corners of her eyes crinkling as she beamed up at him. “A reef knot,” she said to herself, nodding. “I thought it was a Hercules knot*. I have some more reading to do,” she mused, more to herself than to him.

James took a deep breath, schooling his features into a slightly more neutral expression. It wouldn’t do to trail about his wife like a lovesick schoolboy. And yet, every time she turned to him with that enormous smile, he had to resist the urge to cradle her face in his hands and kiss her until she was gasping for air.

After a few more minutes of an impromptu tour, organized by Elizabeth herself, he managed to coax her into the handsome quarters where they would be staying for the next few weeks. After the captain’s quarters, it was the largest room on the ship. The captain was a friend of Anson’s, a merchant out of London who kindly offered them swift passage back to England. James wasn’t sure that he wanted to get to England swiftly. He meant to enjoy the passage as much as possible. In fact, he would have liked to take Elizabeth to bed at that moment, except that she was darting around the room like a minnow in the stream, examining the books and various trinkets and peering out the portholes. She burbled happily about the old astrolabe she had discovered tucked away in one of the mahogany shelves built into the front wall of the cabin, but for once he wasn’t really listening. He watched her with an increasing heaviness in his heart as the nagging thought from a few moments earlier returned to him. She was happy with their life now, he was almost sure of that—but how long would it last? Would she eventually come to resent him for tying her to a tedious life on shore? But then, what else was there for her? She couldn’t simply up and join a merchant crew or the Navy as a woman; no reasonable captain would have her on board his ship. There was pirating, perhaps, but he would put her under lock and key before allowing her such a life, although the cruel, controlling impulse was unlike him. No, he was worrying about possibilities that could never be, he reasoned. He would keep her happy in Port Royal. They would go on more sailing expeditions in the nearby lagoons and maybe she could even accompany him on his travels occasionally—only in peacetime, of course. That would be enough.

Right?

“James?” Elizabeth stood in front of him with lips pressed, looking slightly peeved.

“Yes, my love?”

“You weren’t listening,” she accused him with narrowed eyes.

He colored slightly. “I’m sorry, I was caught up in thoughts about the trip…I’m sorry,” he apologized again. He reached for her hand and pressed it to his lips. “A poor companion I’ve been and we have hardly even embarked for England.”

An impish smile crossed her face as she quipped, “I should say! As penance you shall set about getting me some hot water for a bath before dinner.”

He chuckled at the order, softened by plump lips and a lilting voice. “As you say, Captain.”

Something glinted in her dark eyes and that smirk grew even wider. “Indeed,” she agreed with a little nod. She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek before making for the door at a deliberately casual pace.

James watched her leave in amusement. “Off to start your mutiny, I see.”

She gave him a cheeky smile over her shoulder that set his heart fluttering. “If I say yes, you’ll be complicit,” she warned him with a wink before darting out the door. She was probably just going to explore the rest of the ship, which was fine. He could hardly blame her—when the wind picked up on the sea and the sails snapped powerfully and the waves lashed against the ship, his heart rate picked up and he felt as giddy as a boy. Somehow, without saying so, he knew that she felt the same.

* * *

James spent some time chatting with the ship’s officers before settling down in their bunk to read. He had sent a young midshipman for the hot water some time ago but the boy had yet to appear and the ceramic tub in the middle of the room sat unused as the dinner hour approached. He hadn’t seen Elizabeth for some time, although the opened suitcase on her side of the bed indicated that she had returned, perhaps for a hat or a jacket.

When she still didn't appear half an hour later, he set off to find her.

He discovered his wife in the crow’s nest after forty-five minutes of searching.

After sternly interrogating several of the cabin boys, who found Elizabeth very amusing, he made his way over to the tallest mast and began to climb, his ears burning a bit with embarrassment. If someone had a comment to make about him _or_ his rambunctious wife, he would set them straight, he grumbled to himself.

He had some rather stern words for her, as well, except that when he finally reached her fortress, her appearance—combined with the climb—knocked the wind from his lungs. He pulled himself up through the circular opening of the outlook and stood just a few inches from her, resting his palm against the mast for support. As tall as he was, it was impossible not to feel the powerful sway of the wind and he was very aware of how low the wooden frame surrounding them was; if he stumbled, he could easily pitch forward onto the deck to his certain death. The smallest boys were usually up here for just that reason, but Elizabeth seemed content—more than content.

Elizabeth must have heard him approaching, but she didn’t turn towards him. She stood with her back to him, cradling a spyglass in her hands, keeping a weather eye on the horizon.

And she was wearing that _damned Marine uniform._

When she finally turned to acknowledge him, he had _almost_ thought of something clever to say to her. But the sight of her wind-reddened cheeks and flying hair rendered him silent, again.

She leaned back against the wooden supports of her little enclave, resting her elbows and lower back as she regarded him with an enormous grin. Something about her pose struck him as eerily similar to that Sparrow bastard, and the thought soured in his gut like cold coffee. “You’ve found me,” she said, brown eyes glinting with humor. “Well, I hope you didn’t yell at those poor cabin boys. I was looking for an excuse to come up, they had a long watch here and they were very intent on studying their maths with their tutor, you see. He’s terribly afraid of heights so they had to go down to him.”

“My wife, the stalwart defender of children’s education,” James replied sarcastically, firmly anchoring his gaze on her sun-brightened face. He would not give her the satisfaction of letting her know how much that uniform undid him. How did she even know? He _himself_ did not know how much it affected him until he saw her just so, trussed up and strutting about like she owned the ship. That strangely masculine side of her personality, that confidence and posture, was as arousing as it was frustrating. He didn’t _greatly _care that she had undoubtedly caused a stir on board, but if someone said something rude, he would have to fight them and that would probably put a strain on their relationship with the captain.

Gritting his teeth, he wondered if she ever thought through her actions, or if she simply settled upon a course of action immediately and refused to be deterred from it. 

At his comment, she gave a little bow.

“And this…” James finally acknowledged her dress, gesturing at the scarlet jacket. “Is there a particular reason…”

“Well, I intended to scale at least one mast today and I didn’t want to scandalize the crew if they happened to see up my dress,” she explained in an infuriatingly neutral tone. “These breeches are much more practical.”

James could not prevent the blood from rushing to his face. He could picture it all too easily: this imp of a woman scampering to the highest point of the ship with her gowns billowing around her, revealing far too much skin in her determination to reach her destination. Or, worse, Elizabeth becoming tangled in her many skirts and struggling to move against the roaring wind. But then, were the breeches so much better? They were so damnably tight across her backside and imagining her climb in those had the blood rushing somewhere else. “Elizabeth,” he bit out. “I do wish you would think of the others on board. You are going to give some elderly seaman a heart attack.”

Elizabeth stretched her arms out over her head and relaxed against the wooden barrier, lazily tracing the horizon with her gaze. “I’m only being practical, James,” she replied lightly, crossing her legs at the knee, ever the cavalier sailor. “Besides, it isn’t my fault that you get jealous easily.”

James sputtered in indignation. The sheer cheek of her! “Jealous? I—that’s absurd. Elizabeth, I would never doubt your faithfulness, I—”

She turned to him finally and laughed. “That’s not what I meant.” She sashayed towards him and looped her arms around his waist, pulling him closer. “I only meant you get adorably jealous when you think another man is looking at me.”

James closed his eyes tightly, if only so he could ban her smug expression from his sight. She was right, of course, and that only irritated him further. When he opened them again, he found his annoyance dissipating.

She looked as regal as a queen in his arms, calm, confident, larger than life. Her golden waves brushed past the tight marine jacket with its pearly buttons as she looked up at him, smiling warmly. “You are the only one for me, James,” she murmured, stroking his cheek with the tips of her fingers. “I wouldn’t have anyone but you."

The words softened him instantly. But instead of relaxing into her touch, he grabbed her hips and pulled her towards him for a hot kiss, his greedy fingers digging into the fine material of her uniform. God, she really was stunning. Though he meant what he said about not doubting her faithfulness, sometimes it was still incredible to believe that she had chosen _him_ when she could have had anyone.

She hummed happily against his lips, slipping her tongue past his teeth. She raised her hands from his waist to his shoulders, pressing her whole body against him. He could feel the warmth of her legs through the cotton of her breeches and inhaled sharply the scent of her body combined with the sea salt-tinged air. Every cell in his body cried out for her. If it wasn’t entirely dangerous and impractical to do so, he would take her right here. Instead, he moved his mouth from her lips to her collarbone, slowly making his way towards her ear, where he murmured,  
“Do you know what you do to me, my siren?”

He jumped when he felt her hand between his legs, stroking the growing outline of his erection. “I have an idea,” came the saucy reply.

_Dammit_.

More than anything, he wanted to march her down to their quarters, bend her over the bed, and whisk those snug breeches down her pert lower half and fuck her until the entire crew could hear her shouting. It was an unforgivably savage thought, but he found himself unable to shake it.

He hissed and removed her hand, pinning her wrist to the outer shell of the crow’s nest. “Elizabeth,” he growled, nipping at her neck.

She made a delighted sound, arching against him. “Yes?” She asked, just a bit breathlessly.

“We are going back to our quarters now.”

“I think that is a _fine_ idea, James.”

* * *

James did not get his way, but the alternative wasn’t so bad.

Elizabeth bounced above him breathlessly, staring down at him with an almost predatory gaze. Years ago, when he saw her at her first debut as an adult, she reminded him of a lark, a songbird—something light, fleeting, and ethereal. Now…it was impossible not to see her as a lioness, with her sweaty golden hair sticking to her neck and breasts as she slid up and down his cock.

She braced her hands against the headboard above him, making a positively guttural sound as he reached between her soft thighs to rub at her clitoris. “Not yet,” she gasped, slapping his hand away. She picked up the rhythm and he threw his head back, unable to suppress a groan. “I’m going to make you come hard, James.” The filthy words sent a spasm down his body and she smiled, snatching up the offending hand and pressed his fingers to her lips, kissing each tip…and then taking two digits into her mouth and sucking, hard.

How did she learn to torment a man like that?

Although he preferred to be the one pressing _her_ into the bed, this…this was something else. Watching her sway above him and move with deliberate skill was unbelievably arousing. Elizabeth was the only woman to ride him like this and she knew that he loved it too, that he loved seeing this side of her.

His body tensed and he wasn’t sure if he could hold back his orgasm much longer. But she was merciless. She arched up just when he was about to come and his cock slid out of her wetly. “Where—” he began helplessly, trying and failing to keep the need out of his voice, as she maneuvered her body upwards, adjusting her legs before sitting lightly on his face.

“_Now _you can make me come,” she said a little breathlessly, and he knew from her panting that as much as she affected him, that she wasn’t immune to his touch, either.

Eagerly, his hands traced her legs up to her rounded buttocks as he pulled her into a comfortable position, and then he lapped at the sensitive flesh that hovered tantalizingly over his mouth.

She sighed and gripped the top of the headboard as he set to work, sucking and licking as she needed. The heady scent of her most intimate parts went to his head like an opiate; he found himself groaning even as his cock throbbed with need. After only a few moments, she shook violently, letting out a wail that brought a smirk to his face.

Well, she may have been on top this time, but at least he could still reduce her to a shuddering mess.

But Elizabeth didn’t wait to catch her breath. She shimmied back down his body skillfully and coaxed him inside her, eliciting a primitive grunt from him. “Now,” she gasped out. “Now, James, I want you to come _now_.” She rocked her hips powerfully against his and he obeyed, groaning her name as he thrust up into her body.

* * *

That night at supper, they dined with the captain in the officers’ meeting room. To his credit, James tried very hard to concentrate on their host’s pleasant, if unremarkable, conversation. All the while Elizabeth sat across from him with a smirk on her face and winked at him if she caught him staring--which was often. She agreed to dress more conservatively for their host’s sake, but the outline of her body hidden beneath her modest clothing haunted him.

It was going to be an interesting voyage, he mused, and although his odious family awaited them at the end of it, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * From what I've read, reef knots and Herculean knots are actually the same thing. I love Elizabeth the scholar. I'm sure her father had trouble keeping her to sit still for school lessons, but she loves to read technical maritime manuals. If I make her seem a little giddy, it's because she is. Being at sea for the first time in so long has her euphoric. I don't mean to write her in a condescending manner--she is an intelligent, ambitious woman, and given time and training, she would be an excellent sailor in her own right (as we see in the future movies!). But for right now, her sailing experience is rather limited to the pirate escapade. I have plans for her, though. I like to think of her in her natural element and that is, of course, at sea. I do love writing a little marriage story on land but...that isn't fair to her. I don't want to reign her in for my own selfish reasons (a cute, and at times downright horny, fic about her marriage with James). You know? She deserves everything and I am going to try to give that to her...one way or another...I haven't completely settled on an ending just yet but the ending may not involve keeping house at Port Royal :) 
> 
> I know everyone loves it when James takes the initiative during sex but if you don't think Elizabeth is equally as dominant...........I think we watched different movies, frankly. Oh, James is prideful, but he loves it when she rides him, too. Who DOESN'T love Elizabeth Swann?

**Author's Note:**

> As I mentioned in the tags, this story is not entirely canon compliant. This timeline takes place after Curse of the Black Pearl, shortly after Will and Elizabeth (ahem, attempt to) marry in Dead Man's Chest. Cutler Beckett still has warrants out for Will, Elizabeth, James, and (of course) Jack, but James and the HMS Dauntless do not go into that fateful hurricane and he does not end up inebriated and impoverished on Tortuga. I hate to cut out that part because it adds so much color to his character, but there will be more backstory for him, I'm just going to write it myself to prevent plot holes. I am selfish and I want to write a slow burn arranged marriage story and I will not be held accountable for my actions.


End file.
